


Tales of the Death Hunters: Shades of Anger

by cambangst



Series: Tales of the Death Hunters [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, Death Eaters, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6468793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cambangst/pseuds/cambangst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Anger is a great force. If you control it, it can be transmuted into a power which can move the whole world." -- William Shenstone</p><p>First installment of the Tales of the Death Hunters</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Malice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, that which you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

Twenty-one minutes.  
  
  
The rhythmic metallic ticks of the grandfather clock in the sitting room steadily counted the seconds. Kaspar Teufelshunde’s flinty eyes followed each swing of the pendulum with an intensity born of an all-consuming urge to survive. For two and a half years, he had lived on the run. Twenty-eight months and three weeks of constantly moving from one town to the next, avoiding his own kind and taking advantage of the muggles for food and shelter. It sickened him, thinking of the life he’d led. It was shameful, beneath him. But in twenty minutes and forty-five seconds, it was going to be over.  
  
  
His gaze drifted to the dusty wine bottle sitting on the end table next to his seat. He resisted the urge to cast another revealing spell on it. Six times he’d checked since trading the last of his gold for it. Every time, the answer was the same. An illicit portkey, charmed by a mysterious wizard known only as The Stranger. The scrawny, half-starved house elf who’d delivered it assured him that it would take him back to Bavaria. Kaspar couldn’t decide whether to feel reassured or troubled by the fact that the bony little creature had been scared out its wits. He’d never had much use for elves.  
  
  
Shaking off his contemplation of the pathetic elf’s prattling, Kaspar swallowed and forced his eyes back to the clock. If the elf had been lying to him, he’d soon know. He would remain stuck in this godforsaken place, penniless and alone. Unless he’d been deceived so thoroughly that it was charmed to take him directly into the clutches of his enemies. His fingers tightened around the grip of his wand. If that was the case, he didn’t plan to die alone. After eight hundred and sixty-two days of hiding among the muggles and their filth, he was more than ready to make his final stand.  
  
  
Eighteen minutes.  
  
  
It wasn’t supposed to end up like this. When his cousin Emmerich first came to him with word of Britain’s legendary Dark Lord returning, he’d been skeptical. Wizards as powerful as Lord Voldemort didn’t just disappear for fifteen years. But the reports of the Dark Lord’s rebirth kept coming. By the time the British Ministry fell, Kaspar had already made arrangements to join the Death Eaters. What followed had, in all honesty, been a glorious few months. He joined a band of Durmstrang graduates who traveled across northern England, spreading terror in the Dark Lord’s name. They burned, raped and pillaged their way through town after muggle town, even capturing a few fugitive muggle-borns along the way. As word of their exploits spread, they attracted the notice of the Dark Lord’s inner circle. When they were summoned to the ancient wizarding school in Scotland, Kaspar was sure that they were about to receive their marks.  
  
  
Then it all came crashing down. Lord Voldemort fell before the wand of a half-blood boy. Kaspar had been fighting outside the castle gates when word first reached him. It initially seemed like a desperate ploy on the part of their enemies, but then he encountered one of his fellow Durmstrang alumni fleeing from an Auror and a pair of school children. Together, they disapparated away and sought shelter in Wales. That was how the game of cat and mouse began. After a few weeks, he’d been forced to abandon his companion when the Aurors raided their purloined muggle flat in Cardiff. Leaving had been a major inconvenience. The flat was quiet and comfortable and they’d placed the comely young muggle who lived there under the Imperius Curse. Thinking about it still made Kaspar angry. He’d warned Gustav again and again not to use magic when they stole from the muggles. It was the fool’s own fault that he was now rotting in Azkaban.  
  
  
Sixteen minutes.  
  
  
Kaspar rose to his feet and started to pace. Soon, gods willing, he’d be back on his native soil. Surely he was wanted there as well, but hiding out among his own people would be far easier. His family and his old friends from Durmstrang would be able to help him. Even if he was caught, the worst the Zaubergericht could try him for was trafficking in cursed objects. And Nurmengard was a damn sight more pleasant than Azkaban.  
  
  
A knock at the front door sent a chill down Kaspar’s spine. The two muggles lying dead in the cellar had made a point of informing their friends, coworkers and relatives that they would be vacationing in Spain for a week. He’d made sure of that after placing them under the Imperius Curse. The lights were off, the curtains were drawn and the post had been stopped. The house couldn’t have looked less inviting if he’d seeded the front garden with Devil’s Snare. The knock came again, more insistent this time.  
  
  
Fourteen minutes.  
  
  
Moving silently across the carpet, Kaspar chanced a peek through a small gap in the curtains. A slender young woman was standing at the door, holding a plastic clipboard in her hand. He quickly ducked away from the window as she leaned to the side and tried to look inside. Then she knocked again, loudly. The sound grated on Kaspar’s already frayed nerves and he was starting to worry that perhaps she had some reason to expect the house’s owners to be there. Thirteen minutes and thirty seconds remained. There was no point in taking chances. With a swipe of his wand, he removed the protective enchantments securing the door.  
  
  
“Hello. My name is Mary Goldsmith and I’m conducting a survey on behalf-”  
  
  
“ _Imperio._ ”  
  
  
The young woman’s eyes went blank and her rehearsed spiel died away mid-sentence. With a small turn of his head, Kaspar directed her inside the house. He leaned through the doorway and took a quick glance up and down the street. It was empty, save for a few songbirds in the trees and a small dog lounging on the front steps of the house three doors down. Satisfied that nobody had seen her come in, he closed the door and reapplied the locking charms.  
  
  
“Hello, fräulein*,” he mumbled mostly to himself, studying the new arrival. Her hair was dyed a rather unsightly shade of orange and the neckline of her tight blouse plunged daringly. A tight, black leather skirt strained against her curvy bottom. Kaspar licked his dry lips. Perhaps thirteen minutes wasn’t such a short amount of time after all. There was no reason not to celebrate his imminent escape with a bit of entertainment. He started to cast a revealing charm, just on the off chance that she wasn’t what she seemed, but there really wasn’t any point. If she was hiding a wand inside that outfit, he’d be damned if he could figure out where.  
  
  
Kaspar stepped closer and ran his free hand down the curve of her back and over her bum. Mary Goldsmith continued to stand perfectly still, staring vacantly at the far side of the room. He slowly turned her around, enjoying the absolute power he held over her. If he told her to turn, she turned. If he told her to stand, she stood. If he told her to stop breathing, she’d suffocate. Of the three Unforgivable Curses, the Imperius had always been his favorite.  
  
  
With a quick flick of his wand, he severed the buttons holding her blouse closed. The thin fabric parted, allowing him a better view of her full breasts. He roughly grabbed one, squeezing it through the fabric of her bra. While she was under his control, he couldn’t enjoy the look of fear in her eyes, but under the circumstances he’d make do. Kaspar slid his fingers down her side until they reached the bottom of her skirt and hooked them underneath it. He paused and then sighed. Twelve minutes wasn’t enough time to fully indulge himself. Still...  
  
  
“On your knees, filthy muggle whore.” He gestured to a spot in front of the chair he’d been sitting in and the young woman obeyed without hesitation. He’d make use of her and then slit her throat with a cutting hex before the portkey activated. No sense leaving any sign that her death was anything more than a random act of non-magical violence. He undid the buckle of his belt and eased into the chair in front of her. Just as he was about to relax, a voice echoed through the house.  
  
  
“ _Kaspar Teufelshunde, this is the Auror Department. By the authority of the Ministry of Magic, we are placing you under arrest for crimes committed during and after the war. Throw your wand through the front door of the house and come out with your hands above your head._ ”  
  
  
“ _Gottverdammt!**_ ” Kaspar sprung out of his chair, pulling his trousers up as he rose. As soon as his belt was cinched, he grabbed the wine bottle and turned on his heel. Nothing happened. He cursed loudly as he set the bottle back on the table. The girl had been a ruse, a distraction to allow the Aurors to set anti-apparition jinxes. Now he was trapped inside them, but he wasn’t about to give up. All he had to do was hold out for eleven minutes.  
  
  
“On your feet, bitch!” he snapped. As soon as she scrambled up, he wrapped his free hand around the back of her neck and shoved her toward the front window. Carefully keeping her in front of him, he blew out one of the window panes with a hex, then fired a Reductor Curse at a fireplug on the far side of the street. It exploded with a satisfying bang, sending a column of water high into the air. Now they knew that he meant business.  
  
  
He placed the tip of his wand against his throat and sent his voice booming into the street. “If you try to come inside, the girl dies! You hear me, you boot licking swine? I’ll paint the walls of this house with her blood!”  
  
  
A full minute of silence passed. Kaspar imagined the Aurors discussing their options, trying to decide what to do next. The fools obviously believed that time was on their side. Little did they know that every passing second brought him closer to his goal. Closer to freedom.  
  
  
“ _Don’t do anything stupid, Kaspar!_ ” The Auror’s voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. “ _You’re already going to prison for a long, long time. If you let her go, things will be easier for you._ ”  
  
  
Kasper snorted his disdain to nobody in particular. Even if he let the girl go, he was going to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban. Since the British Ministry was now too _enlightened_ to sentence men to be kissed, killing her wouldn’t change his punishment one bit. Still, if they wanted to negotiate, he was only too happy to oblige them. Just another ten minutes.  
  
  
He waited for as long as he dared, then pressed his wand back to his throat. “I will trade her life for a portkey to Bulgaria. I want your Minister, himself, to deliver it. I want him to make the Unbreakable Vow that I will not be followed!”  
  
  
Kaspar allowed himself a satisfied smirk. It would take them at least half an hour to relay his demands to the Ministry and get some sort of response. Longer if they waited to get that response from the Minister, himself.  
  
  
“ _The Bulgarians have sealed their borders, Kaspar. We’ll get Freya Ormand from International Magical Cooperation here to verify that if you want. They’ll intercept your portkey and send you right back. There’s nowhere left to run._ ” Kaspar frowned. Assuming the Aurors weren’t bluffing and even the Bulgarians were turning away suspected Death Eaters, things had gotten worse while he’d been on the run. He thought for a second and then pressed his wand back to his throat. Maybe he could throw them even farther off of his trail.  
  
  
“Enchant the portkey for Somalia, then.” The last he’d heard, Somalia didn’t have a stable government for either its magical or muggle population. It wasn’t like he was going there anyway.  
  
  
Eight minutes.  
  
  
The Auror’s voice once again echoed through the house. “ _Is that really what you want, Kaspar? To spend the rest of your life on the run, being hunted wherever you go? Give yourself up. Put an end to this._ ”  
  
  
The arrogance of the British Ministry and its lackeys was unbelievable. They obviously thought that he was a fool. He’d show them soon enough. By the time they finally worked out what had happened, he’d be long gone and Miss Mary Goldsmith would be lying dead in a pool of her own blood. He fired another reductor curse at the pavement on the far side of the street before amplifying his voice again. “Go to hell, blood traitors! I’m not a fool. Either you bring me my portkey or the girl will die a most gruesome death.”  
  
  
Two more minutes ticked by. Again, Kaspar imagined the Aurors wringing their hands and fretting over the life of a single, filthy muggle. A grim smile crossed his lips when the Auror’s voice resumed, sounding fairly resigned. “ _Stay calm, Kaspar. It will take us some time to arrange a portkey. We’re in contact with Mr. Reagan Freethought in the Department of Magical Transportation as we speak._ ”  
  
  
Kaspar backed away from the window. The muggle girl stumbled a bit as he pulled her along, keeping her body between himself and the window. Was he supposed to be impressed by the Aurors dropping the name of some self-important Ministry lackey? Once he was safely sheltered behind a solid wall, he grabbed Mary Goldsmith by the hair and smacked her leather-clad bottom with his free hand. “Bring me that bottle, you useless muggle cow.”  
  
  
He watched her obediently make her way across the room before turning his attention back toward the window. Three more minutes and he would be free. He pondered what sort of mess he wanted to leave behind for the Aurors. Since they already knew who he was, there wasn’t any need to try to conceal his actions. Perhaps he should sever her head and leave it on the coffee table. Maybe attach her decapitated body to the wall with a sticking charm. She was certainly going to make a beautiful corpse. Images of her naked, flayed body were the last thing on Kaspar’s mind before the heavy wine bottle made contact with the back of his skull.  
  
  
As he stumbled into the wall, blinded by pain and struggling to remain on his feet, Kaspar flailed his arm around and fired a weak stunning spell that cracked against the far wall. A sharp blow struck his wrist, knocking his wand out of his hand.  
  
  
“On the floor, you pig!” Kaspar turned and tried to lash out in the direction of the snarling female voice. She side-stepped the brunt of his attack, but he still managed to open up a small space between them. His next swing connected with her face at the same instant that her knee struck him in the groin. As he crumbled to the floor in pain, he saw the woman stumble backward and trip over a table.  
  
  
Through his clenched eyelids, Kaspar spied a piece of broken glass on the floor in front of him, emitting a faint blue glow. Freedom lay just over an arm’s length away. With all the determination he could muster, Kaspar thrust his body forward, making a desperate grab. His fingers missed the glowing fragment by inches. He curled his knees toward his chest in preparation for one more lunge at the broken portkey. Even if it didn’t take him all the way home, he’d escape to try another day. He sucked down a painful breath and extended his arm. Before he could act, a sharp pain shot through his torso as a pair of bony knees crashed into his ribcage.  
  
  
“You’re not going anywhere, arsehole!” Mary Goldsmith was on top of him and Kaspar felt her fist strike the side of his aching head. Fighting through the pain, he managed to land a clumsy swat in her midsection, driving her back for a moment, but she snarled and launched herself back at his face. Kaspar couldn’t catch his breath enough to simply shove her away, so he struggled to wrap his hands around her throat while protecting his battered body as best he could from her fists and knees.  
  
  
Kaspar felt fingernails rake across his face, leaving long, painful welts. As she angled for another slash, he managed to thrust his elbow under her chin. The girl coughed painfully, clutching her bruised throat. He pushed her away and rolled onto his stomach, trying to get his hands underneath his body. A loud crack announced that the protective spells securing the front door had collapsed. The glowing fragment was still lying on the floor and he made a desperate grab for it but a quick swipe of a black boot sent it tumbling out of his reach. It was the last thing Kaspar Teufelshunde saw before a jet of red light struck him in the back and everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * fräulein - German for “young lady”  
> ** Gottverdammt - German for “goddamn”
> 
> Hello! This story will chronicle the adventures of Harry, Ron and the other former D.A. members who join the Aurors after the war. If people like it and my muse stays on topic, there might be future installments.
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, kindly take a moment and let me know with a review!


	2. Wrath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, that which you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

“So he just... _grabbed your boob_?”  
  
  
Ron couldn’t quite understand the exasperated look on his colleague’s face. As far as he was concerned, all he’d done was ask the question that was on everyone else’s mind. Why was she glaring at him like that?  
  
  
“Yes, Ron,” Susan Bones replied curtly, “he just grabbed my boob.”  
  
  
Ron tried his best to hold it together. He probably would have succeeded if he hadn’t accidentally made eye contact with Terry Boot. Within a few seconds, the two male Aurors crumbled into snorts of laughter.  
  
  
“I’m glad you all think it’s so bloody funny,” Susan snapped as she cast another healing spell on the bruise on the side of her face. “Next time, one of you can take polyjuice and be Mary bloody Goldsmith.”  
  
  
“Sorry, Suze, I’d make a terrible woman,” Neville Longbottom answered earnestly. He nudged another shard of the broken wine bottle into the middle of his desk with the tip of his wand and swept it with a revealing spell. After noting the pattern and colors of the flashes of light, he dropped it into an evidence bag.  
  
  
“There’s the truth if I’ve ever heard it,” Justin Finch-Fletchley mumbled from his desk. He dipped his quill and continued scribbling away on the report the group was preparing. Ron was as eager as anyone else on the team to wrap up the paperwork on Kaspar Teufelshunde and go home. As often as Hermione reassured him that she understood the irregular hours of his chosen profession -- and as often as her own career pulled her into the Ministry on nights and weekends -- he hated missing out on a lazy Saturday afternoon with her.  
  
  
Ron had been enjoying a nice lie-in with his fiancee when Harry’s Patronus burst into their bedroom. One of the Aurors’ best undercover informants had provided Harry with the location of an infamous and dangerous Snatcher. The entire team had sprung into action, gathering several blocks from the house where Teufelshunde was hiding and quickly working out the details of their take-down plan. The whole thing came together in a matter of minutes. You got used to working that way when you worked for Harry Potter. Planning was a luxury they were rarely able to enjoy.  
  
  
“I’m not taking the piss here, guys,” Susan continued, studying her work in a mirror. “It’s sexual assault. It’s not funny.”  
  
  
Ron took a second to fully compose himself before answering. “I’m sorry, Susan. It really isn’t funny. Just sort of pathetic, really. Judging from where the mediwizards were casting healing spells on him, I’d say you showed him the error in his ways.”  
  
  
“If I’d had my wand, they would’ve needed a needle and thread to fix him,” Susan replied darkly, returning the slender piece of wood to the holster on her forearm. Ron shuddered involuntarily. There were many people in the world that he no longer feared crossing, having seen and survived everything he’d been through since meeting Harry Potter on the Hogwarts Express. Susan Bones was not one of them.  
  
  
“Done!” Neville announced, dropping the last fragment of the wine bottle into the bag with the others. He turned toward Justin, who shuffled through the various pieces of parchment on his desk until he found the evidence catalog. “There was an illicit portkey spell on the bottle. It was keyed for Bavaria. It also looks like Teufelshunde cast half a dozen revealing spells on it. The wand signature from the portkey spell is a match for The Stranger. Other than that, just a faint magical signature from an elf. I’d say The Stranger swept it clean before making the elf deliver it.”  
  
  
“Merlin’s beard, this guy is careful,” Justin muttered as he wrote down Neville’s findings. “So we still think The Stranger is Jugson?”  
  
  
“Harry’s convinced of it,” Ron answered, scribbling a few notes in his own field journal. “He won’t say why, but he is. I think maybe the informant told him something.”  
  
  
“I don’t like this,” Terry said quietly, not looking up from the report he was working on. “Not knowing anything about this secret informant. We’re a team. We share everything we know. I just... don’t like it.”  
  
  
“We have to trust Harry,” Susan replied, lowering her voice to match Terry’s. “I’m sure he has a good reason for keeping this secret. He wouldn’t do it otherwise.”  
  
  
“Susan’s right,” Ron chimed in. “This informant has led us to four fugitives so far. Poor bloke is probably in so deep that he can’t take any risks, like Snape was. He trusts Harry and we have to respect that.”  
  
  
“I know,” Terry sighed, rubbing his forehead. “But I still don’t like it.”  
  
  
“Harry’s the boss,” Neville replied after sealing the evidence bag with a tamper resistant spell. “If he says he can’t tell us, he can’t tell us.”  
  
  
Ron kept a neutral expression, but he felt a twinge of discomfort for his best friend. Harry hated the mantle of leadership that had been placed on his shoulders, but everyone understood the necessity. When the former D.A. members had proposed forming a task force to hunt down fugitive Death Eaters and other war criminals, the surviving senior Aurors had been bitterly opposed to the idea. Kingsley had only agreed to override their objections if Harry became the public face of the team. It gave him the political capital he needed to make the Ministry’s army of bureaucrats fall into line. Even the name that had been chosen for them -- The Special War Crimes Investigation and Pursuit Squad -- seemed rather self-important and poncey to Ron’s ears. At least it had until the other Aurors took to calling them the SpeWCrIPS behind their backs. Even that was a damn sight better than the moniker the Daily Prophet had come up with.  
  
  
“So... the Atrium is full of reporters and photographers, the Obliviators are working double shifts and a Healer is charming some half-arsed dark wizard’s ear back on in Holding Cell Eight.” Ron groaned inwardly, recognizing the voice without looking up. “The _Death Hunters_ must be back from their latest escapade.”  
  
  
“Hey Dawlish,” Terry replied sarcastically, “I heard somebody jinxed a toy broom in Diagon Alley. Why don’t you take Cheshire and Proudfoot and go investigate it?”  
  
  
The look on the senior Auror’s face turned sour as he blew across the top of a steaming mug of tea. “ _Auror_ Cheshire and _Auror_ Proudfoot have real cases to work on, and so do I. We don’t have time to run around blowing up muggle neighborhoods and chasing You-Know-Who’s low-ranking flunkies.”  
  
  
“That _low-ranking flunkie_ personally handed four muggle-borns over to Dolores Umbridge and her _commission_ ,” Susan spat back. “He sent them to their deaths. He tortured, raped and murdered more muggles than we’ll ever know. If you don’t think that’s worth your time, you shouldn’t be here.”  
  
  
Dawlish took a step toward Susan’s desk. His eyes were filled with anger and contempt. “How dare you tell _me_ where I should or shouldn’t be? I was an Auror before you were born, missy. Your aunt and I came up through Magical Law Enforcement together.”  
  
  
“My aunt thought you were an idiot,” Susan replied, meeting his burning glare with one of her own. “I tend to agree with her.”  
  
  
“Hey, Nev,” Justin piped up, looking past the senior Auror toward the door, “what’s your Gran doing here?”  
  
  
Dawlish spun around so fast that he spilled hot tea all down the front of his robes. Ron, Terry, Justin and Neville howled with laughter as the older wizard slowly turned back from the empty doorway with a furious scowl fixed on his red face.  
  
  
“Potter’s fame isn’t going to keep you sorry lot here forever,” he snarled, then he stalked out of their office toward the gents.  
  
  
“Bloody tosser,” Ron wheezed, wiping his eyes.  
  
  
“Bloke’s a good laugh, though,” Terry replied, searching for the quill he’d dropped somewhere among the piles of parchment littering his desk.  
  
  
Another figure appeared in the doorway and the office immediately went silent. Ron marveled at how Harry never had to ask people to quiet down when he entered the room. They all just instinctively stopped talking, wanting to hear what he had to say.  
  
  
“Alright, you lot, listen up,” Harry started, in spite of the fact that they were already listening intently. “I just came from Kingsley’s office. He and Robards were really pleased with how this morning went. Well, Kingsley is, anyway.”  
  
  
The team shared a chuckle and Harry’s posture loosened a bit as his nerves started to settle. “Let’s go over it one more time and see what went well and what we could have done better.”  
  
  
Ron settled into his chair as Harry perched himself on the corner of Susan’s desk. Step by step, they started to pick apart the operation, going over each piece of it in turn. It had become a ritual for the team, something that Kingsley suggested when he first approved their proposal. Ron thought it was a big part of why they worked so well together, not to mention why they always managed to come back alive.  
  
  
After going over the team’s initial communication and the way they positioned themselves around the muggle house, Harry turned to Susan’s performance on the inside. “You managed to throw off the Imperius on the second prompt this time. Excellent work!”  
  
  
The blond witch broke into a wide smile, with just a hint of hesitation. “I nearly got it on the first one, but he was a little too strong.”  
  
  
Throwing off the Imperius Curse was something the team practiced regularly. They had devised a system of verbal prompts to help focus their minds and overcome the confusion and complacency that settled over a person who was placed under it. Aside from Harry, who had been able to throw off the curse since their fourth year at Hogwarts, Susan had developed the greatest ability both to cast the curse and to escape from it. Ron wondered how much of it she’d learned from her aunt before the powerful witch had been killed by the Dark Lord.  
  
  
After another twenty minutes spent discussing the final fight inside the house, Harry slid off of Susan’s desk and beamed at all of them. “Brilliant work, everyone. Unless there’s something else we need to talk about, let’s get out of here and enjoy the rest of the weekend.”  
  
  
Ron snapped his field journal closed and stood up from his desk. He was about to head for the door when Terry cleared his throat softly. “Harry, I know you can’t tell us much about this secret informant of yours, and you know that we trust you. It just...” The brown-haired Ravenclaw was silent for a moment, contemplating his next words. “Can you at least say that it’s not somebody with blood on their hands?” He stared at Harry for another couple of seconds before quietly adding, “Not somebody like Snape.”  
  
  
Ron’s eyes flicked back and forth between Terry and Harry. He knew that not everyone fully accepted Harry’s explanation of the perilous double life that Snape had lived. The students who suffered while Snape and the Carrows ran Hogwarts were particularly doubtful. Harry’s gaze swept slowly around the group before settling back on Terry.  
  
  
“The informant isn’t a Death Eater,” Harry answered, keeping his voice calm and level. “That’s the most I can tell you without putting an innocent life in even more danger.”  
  
  
Terry nodded slowly. “And he comes to you with information...” He let the implied question hang in the still air. Everyone’s attention shifted back to Harry.  
  
  
“As often as possible.” Harry locked eyes with Ron for a fraction of a second before continuing. “Our informant risks a horrible death every time we talk. Someday soon I hope the whole world will know what a hero she is.”  
  
  
Taking Harry’s hint, Ron abruptly turned toward the door. “Alright, everyone. Have a brilliant weekend, see you on Monday.”  
  
  
He was halfway out of the room when a small elf appeared in the middle of the room with a loud pop. All eyes snapped to the bone-thin creature as it slowly turned until its bulbous eyes settled on Harry. “Begging your pardons, please, but Bizzy has a message for Mister Harry Potter.”  
  
  
Ron noticed Harry’s shoulders tense. The shabby looking little elf was dressed in tattered rags and her long, bony fingers were shaking. Harry gestured toward the team’s meager meeting room before he turned to face them. “Everyone hang around for a minute, yeah? This won’t take long.”  
  
  
As soon as Harry closed the door to the meeting room behind him, Ron’s ears picked up the telltale buzzing of a Muffliato Charm. He turned to find all of the others staring at him, and he shrugged his shoulders helplessly in response. “Dunno. Not my elf.”  
  
  
“Like Hermione would let you have one,” Susan replied with a smirk, settling back into her desk chair.  
  
  
Even though she was absolutely right, Ron felt compelled to say something in his fiancee’s... he supposed ‘defense’ wasn’t exactly the right way to put it. Hermione and Kreacher had gotten on rather well once they worked out the proper boundaries. He was about to say as much when the door to the meeting room opened and Harry rushed out. Alone.  
  
  
“Grab your stuff, everyone. We’ll talk on the way to the apparition point.”  
  
  
They all looked at one another for a fraction of a second before the room erupted with activity.  
  
  
“What is it, Harry?” Neville asked as he threw his cloak over his shoulders. “What did the elf tell you?”  
  
  
Without pausing, Harry looked over his shoulder and replied, “I know where Jugson is.”  
  
  
All thoughts of spending a quiet afternoon with Hermione were erased from Ron’s mind in an instant. Jugson was probably the most dangerous and elusive war criminal on their hit list. Aside from Rabastan Lestrange, who was believed to have fled to France, he was also the highest-ranking Death Eater still on the loose.  
  
  
As the team hurried toward the Ministry’s employee apparition point, Harry filled them in on everything he knew. The information said that Jugson was staying in a dormer bungalow near East Sussex. The house belonged to a older muggle couple who leased it to a young woman. Because of his rampant paranoia, Jugson likely wouldn’t stay there for more than a day or two. If they were going to capture him, they had to strike now.  
  
  
“As soon as we get there, spread out and surround the house,” Harry directed. “Susan and Justin, you get the anti-disapparition jinxes up. Terry and Neville, be ready to cover them in case Jugson spots us and starts hurling curses from inside the house. Ron, you’ve got the front entrance. On my signal, you lead Terry and Susan in. Justin, Neville, we have the back door. Questions?”  
  
  
“What if he has a portkey?” Justin asked.  
  
  
“Good thinking,” Harry replied. “We already know that he makes illicit ones. We’ll need to move quickly and quietly. As soon as all the spells are up, we go in as fast as we can. Stun anything that moves. We’ll sort out friend from foe when we’ve got the house under control.”  
  
  
“Booby traps?” Susan added, then rolled her eyes at the juvenile smirks on Ron and Terry’s faces.  
  
  
Harry nodded grimly. “It’s definitely possible. I’m hoping he won’t spend too much time protecting a house that he doesn’t plan to use for very long. Keep a close eye out, though.”  
  
  
The team elbowed their way through a crowd of Ministry employees waiting to use the apparition point. “Official Auror business!” Ron shouted, side-stepping between a pair of witches from International Magical Cooperation. “Clear the way! This is an emergency!” Seconds later, they reached the octagonal area and formed up in a circle.  
  
  
“You all know where we’re going and what to do when we get there,” Harry stated, sounding every bit the leader that he never wanted to be. “Remember the plan and watch your backs.”  
  
  
“Let’s get this bastard,” Ron added.  
  
  
Harry drew his wand and the others followed suit. “On three. One. Two. Three!”  
  
  
Ron turned on his heel and the world collapsed into a crushing, spinning tunnel of darkness and vertigo. A fraction of a second later, he landed on the pavement in front of the house Harry had described. Susan began side-stepping down the breadth of the front lawn, sweeping her wand over the plane of the property line while Justin moved warily behind her, keeping his eyes fixed on the muggle home and his wand at the ready.  
  
  
The house itself was unremarkable. Ron studied the casement windows carefully, searching for any hint of motion. He could see faint traces of light behind floral print curtains, but nobody seemed to be looking out. Susan was approaching the corner of the front yard and as she prepared to turn and extend the spells she was casting Ron got his first view of the side of the house. The windows were also dark and empty and he noted with satisfaction that there was no side entrance to worry about. While Justin continued to shadow Susan, Ron hung back where he could keep watch over the front door. It all felt too easy. Jugson had been on the run since the day the Dark Lord fell, helping other Death Eaters to escape and taunting the Ministry with violent assaults on muggle and magical folk alike. He wasn’t the sort to be caught unaware. Had he actually become this careless?  
  
  
A few moments later, Susan and Justin hurried back toward Ron. The three Aurors crouched down and tried to stay below the line of sight from the first floor windows as they moved into position near the front door. Ron forced himself to relax his grip on his wand. Harry hadn’t been able to tell them much about what might await inside. The message delivered by the elf had been short and to the point. Jugson was there. As he waited for Harry’s signal, Ron tried to recall every detail from the Death Eater’s case file. He mentally ticked through Jugson’s age, height, weight, known aliases, magical strengths and weaknesses, favorite curses, even which hand he held his wand in. Any bit of information could be the difference between successfully completing their mission and ending up dead. Truthfully, he spent far more time pondering his own mortality as a fully trained Auror than he had as a seventeen year old battling the most dangerous dark wizard in history. If he thought about it, it was grimly amusing.  
  
  
A shower of red sparks appeared over the house and Ron put everything else out of his mind. Susan swiped her wand over the doorknob and whispered, “ _Finite consummatum._ ” The door briefly glowed blue as all of its protective enchantments were swept away. Ron took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob as Susan cast a silencing charm and Justin aimed his wand toward the inside of the house. They were at the point of no return.  
  
  
Ron twisted the knob and gently pushed the door open. From either side, Susan and Justin rushed in with their wands at the ready. Ron allowed them a second to visually sweep the adjoining rooms before stepping between them and covering the hallway with his wand. Carrying out a raid was a lot like chess in Ron’s opinion. It was all about understanding visual lanes and obstacles, advancing your position and gradually taking control of the playing field. The only difference was that sacrificing pieces was out of the question.  
  
  
He met Harry at the bottom of the stairs as the rest of the team methodically swept the ground floor. They exchanged a quick nod and Ron stayed as close as he could to Harry’s back while his friend climbed the steps. The tactic came naturally after all of the missions they’d been on. Harry could protect them with powerful shield charms while Ron, who stood almost a head taller, lobbed offensive spells over his shoulder. It made them an even more formidable pair in a fight.  
  
  
Ron heard soft footsteps coming up the stairs behind them and turned to find Terry looking up at him. The brown-haired Ravenclaw mouthed ‘ground floor clear’ and then turned to guard their backs. As Ron’s line of sight rose above the top of the stairs, he saw a short hallway with three doors. Natural light spilled out of the two on either side while the one at the end of the hall was closed. Harry looked over his shoulder and silently gestured first to the left, then to the right. Ron nodded in agreement.  
  
  
As they side-stepped down the hall, Ron saw Susan take the rear guard on the stairs, allowing Terry to join them. Harry and Ron pressed their backs against opposite walls and moved toward the open doorways while Terry dropped into a crouch and covered the closed door with his wand. Ron raised his free hand and counted down with his fingers. Three. Two...  
  
  
The two Aurors spun quickly away from the walls and fell to one knee with their wands pointed into the open rooms. In front of him, Ron found an empty bedroom. The bed was neatly made and the folding doors of the closet were open, revealing a modest selection of women’s clothes hanging beneath a shelf full of shoe boxes. _Homenum Revelio._ Ron cast the spell silently and swept the room with his wand. There were no telltale flashes of light to indicate the presence of anyone hiding inside. Noting that the windows were closed and locked, Ron turned around and had to stop himself from cursing out loud.  
  
  
Harry was standing just inside the opposite room, surrounded by carnage. What had once been a child’s bedroom was strewn with bits of broken furniture and scorched debris. The bedding and stuffed animals that once adorned a trundle bed on the far wall had been shredded and flung haphazardly around. Blackened curse burns pock-marked the walls and ceiling. As Ron moved closer, he realized that his best friend was looking down. When he could see over Harry’s shoulder, he suppressed a gasp. Lying on its side in a pool of blood was a small dog. Its empty eyes were fixed on the burned remains of a teddy bear with the word Donny stitched across its belly.  
  
  
Ron started as Susan appeared beside him. She covered her mouth in shock when she saw the destroyed bedroom. As gently as he could, Ron reached out and shook Harry’s shoulder. His best mate finally tore his eyes away from the horrific scene, but he didn’t meet Ron’s stare. Things had plainly just become very personal.  
  
  
Harry stepped back into the hallway and tilted his head toward the closed door. Neville was watching them from the stairs, leaving Justin on the first floor to cover the only possible escape route. Susan took a step forward, sweeping her wand over the door. There were no curses or locking spells on it, so Harry and Ron both took a step closer with their wands leveled toward the doorway. On Harry’s slight nod, Susan reached up from her kneeling position and opened the door.  
  
  
The sight that awaited them froze Ron and Harry in their tracks. A dark-haired young woman was standing in the middle of the room, holding a glass bottle at arm’s length. Her eyes were glassy and vacant, her posture perfect. The bottle glowed with a subtle, menacing red hue. Harry took a careful half step into the room when a gravelly voice from the master bath caught them all by surprise.  
  
  
“Welcome, Harry Potter. So these are the famous _Death Hunters_ I’ve heard so much about.”  
  
  
“You’re trapped, Jugson,” Harry replied, aiming his wand toward the bathroom. The door was open, but Jugson was standing out of sight somewhere inside. “The house is completely warded. Throw your wand out and then come out with your hands above your head.”  
  
  
There was a brief silence and then the dark wizard chuckled softly. “You sound very sure of yourself. Did you perhaps notice the bottle that the pathetic creature in front of you is holding?”  
  
  
“I see it,” Harry answered bluntly. Ron frowned as he studied it. There was little doubt that it was cursed, but he couldn’t see how that improved Jugson’s tactical position. If the Aurors were in danger from it, so was he.  
  
  
“If she lets go of it, the explosion will kill everyone in this house.” Jugson paused for a second. “What a shame that would be.”  
  
  
Harry shifted his wand slightly, angling for a better shot at the bathroom doorway. “Agreed. Especially since you’re, at most, twelve feet away.”  
  
  
Jugson laughed again, louder this time. “Always the hero, aren’t you, Harry Potter? Laughing in the face of death. I regret that I’ll be unable to watch you die, but you’re correct. This vantage point is far too close. Bizzy!”  
  
  
Ron felt a helpless panic settle in as a sharp crack sounded from the bathroom and Harry swore loudly. Jugson’s mocking voice was barely audible above the wave of tension that crashed through the air. “Take me home, Bizzy.”  
  
  
“Bizzy, no!” Harry shouted, but it was too late. A second crack sounded from the bathroom and Ron knew in an instant that the elf and the dark wizard were gone.  
  
  
“ _Harry!_ ” Susan’s terrified yelp snapped their attention away from the bathroom and back to the spot where the young muggle woman stood. She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly as her posture slumped. Ron’s attention flew to the cursed bottle now hanging loosely between her outstretched fingers. His wand reflexively jerked upward in an attempt to defend himself, but Harry was faster.  
  
  
“ _Imperio!_ ” Harry fixed his wand and his stare on the muggle woman and her posture stiffened again. Her fingers wrapped more tightly around the bottle. All of the Aurors let out a breath and then Harry spoke softly and deliberately. “Susan, can you find a way to remove the curse?”  
  
  
The blond Auror carefully stepped forward and probed the air around the muggle woman gently with her wand. “He tied it into her blood. As long as she’s alive, the curse will regenerate as fast as I can remove it. It’s also timed. We have another thirty seconds, tops, before it explodes even if she doesn’t let it go.”  
  
  
“Options?” Ron was pretty sure he recognized the tone of Harry’s voice. He sounded the way he always did just before doing something foolishly heroic.  
  
  
“Strategic retreat,” Ron replied. “There’s no time to call a curse breaker. We have to get out of here.” Harry didn’t budge from where he was standing. Ron sighed and lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, Harry. We can’t help her.”  
  
  
Harry’s answer was alarmingly predictable. “Not good enough. We have to try.” Ron noticed that the pulsing glow of the bottle had become more frequent, not unlike his own heart rate.  
  
  
“Harry,” Susan said insistently, “we have to get everyone out of the house. That bottle’s going to blow.”  
  
  
“No,” Harry replied evenly. “We can’t just leave her.”  
  
  
“Look, Harry,” Ron answered, trying not to shout. “There’s nothing we can do. If she takes her hand off of that bottle-” He puffed his cheeks out before letting the air escape and flexing his wrists and fingers outward.  
  
  
Harry looked thoughtful for a second. “Ron, you’re a genius.”  
  
  
“I’m what?” Ron replied weakly. The bottle was emitting a constant, harsh red glow by that point and it had started to make a grating, whistling noise.  
  
  
“Be ready with shield charms!” Harry yelled, then he turned back toward the muggle woman. Ron raised his wand, as did Susan. He had no idea what Harry was about to do, but getting a couple of seconds warning was better than he was accustomed to with Harry’s plans and he wasn’t going to waste it.  
  
  
“ _Diffindo! Flipendo!_ ”  
  
  
Ron watched in stunned disbelief as the muggle woman’s hand was severed cleanly at the wrist and flung, along with the cursed bottle, through the window on the far wall. Susan must have been similarly gobsmacked, since neither one managed to raise a shield until the bottle had already smashed through the windowpane. A fraction of a second later, the shockwave from the explosion buckled both shield charms. Ron felt the air leave his lungs as he tumbled backward, landing in a heap with Susan and Terry in the hallway. Sharp pains erupted across the front of his body as he rolled onto his side and struggled to suck down a breath.  
  
  
“Harry!” Ron’s attempt to shout came out as little more than a wheeze. He stared numbly at the sunlight streaming into what was left of the bedroom through the gaping hole where a wall once stood. As he tried to pull himself to his knees, the stabbing pains intensified and he saw blood oozing out from tears in his robes made by shards of broken glass. How he fought through the pain, Ron would never know, but after a few seconds he made it to Harry’s side.  
  
  
Blood was streaming down the side of his best mate’s face from an open wound in his scalp and his left shoulder was obviously dislocated. Harry groaned in pain as he struggled up onto his knees and used his one good arm to fumble his way toward the severely injured muggle woman. In the back of Ron’s mind, Hermione’s voice was listing off a hundred sound reasons why neither one of them should be trying to move. If he’d been able to vocalize any of them, he was sure that Harry would have ignored him anyway. Instead, Ron crawled forward, ignoring the crunch of pulverized plaster beneath his bleeding hands. He caught up with Harry at almost the same moment that Harry made it to the woman’s side. Harry dropped the wand that he’d somehow managed to hang onto and pressed his fingers against her neck.  
  
  
“Is she...” Ron whispered, feeling the ache in his chest from even the minimal effort.  
  
  
“Barely,” Harry replied. His voice was raspy and flat, barely audible over the ringing in Ron’s ears.  
  
  
At that moment, Neville limped into the room and fell to his knees beside the two of them. “Justin’s sending a Patronus. Help is on the way. How bad are you hurt?”  
  
  
Ron didn’t bother to answer since Neville was already sweeping both of them with simple diagnostic charms. He collapsed ungracefully onto his side and stared at the profile of Harry’s battered face. “What happened, Harry?”  
  
  
“He knew we were coming,” Harry mumbled softly, more to himself than to anyone else. “Somehow he knew.”  
  
  
“The informant,” Neville suggested as he tried to heal a large cut on the muggle woman’s shoulder. “The informant must have sold us out.”  
  
  
“No,” Harry replied. His voice sounded more and more distant. “She wouldn’t have. Wanted this... too bad.”  
  
  
“Wanted what, Harry?” Darkness seemed to be creeping into the periphery of Ron’s vision as the adrenaline faded and his injuries took their toll. “What did you promise her?”  
  
  
Harry mumbled something inaudible in reply, causing Neville to shoot a concerned look in his direction. Ron tried to marshall what was left of his strength to prop himself up on his elbow. His best mate needed his help, even if he was about to pass out from the pain and his wand was who knew where. A soft pop on the other side of Harry startled Ron, snapping him back from the brink of unconsciousness. Neville whipped his wand away from the healing spell he’d been casting, ready to confront a new threat. Harry suddenly let out a low, horrified moan and started to drag himself toward the source of the noise.  
  
  
“Bizzy. Oh, god, no. Bizzy.” Ron was astounded that Harry could still move at all. As his best mate slowly, painfully turned his body to the side, Ron was able to see the reason for Harry’s lament. The broken, battered body of a small house elf lay on the floor. Ron recognized her as the one who had visited Harry in the Auror office. Her filthy rags were soaked with blood and her bulbous eyes were nearly swollen shut. One of the large ears adorning the creature’s severely bruised head had been burned away.  
  
  
A thin rivulet of blood spilled down the elf’s chin as she coughed weakly and spoke. “Thank you, Harry Potter, sir. Thank you.”  
  
  
“No, no, no, Bizzy!” Harry replied. “I’m so sorry. I never meant... It’s all my fault.”  
  
  
The elf took another tortured breath and forced one of her eyes slightly open. “Bizzy will never have to return to her master. Bizzy is free.”  
  
  
A long moment passed as the awful truth dawned on Ron. A painful-sounding cough shook Harry’s body. Somewhere in front of the house, Ron heard multiple, loud cracks of witches and wizards apparating.  
  
  
“Just hang on, Bizzy,” Harry mumbled with what sounded like the last of his reserves.  
  
  
“Thank you, Harry Potter.” The elf’s voice was barely more than a whisper. A small, contented smile settled onto her beaten face. Just as the first of the Mediwizards rushed into the room, Bizzy the elf found her freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to drop such a downer of an ending on you, but stories about wanted Death Eaters aren't known for being cheerful and uplifting.
> 
> Huge thanks, as always, to my amazing beta reader, sophie_hatter. If you're not a fan of her story, Evolution, you probably haven't read it.
> 
> Kindly take a moment and let me know what you think in the grey box below!


	3. Outrage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, that which you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

A soft groan pulled Justin’s attention away from the society pages of the Daily Prophet. He wasn’t sure which day’s edition he was reading. He’d found it in a bin in the waiting room outside the Curse Trauma Ward at St. Mungo’s. As stuffy and intransigent as wizarding high society tended to be, he supposed that the news didn’t change that much from one day to the next. Setting the paper aside, he watched as the dark-haired wizard in the bed next to his chair gradually opened his eyes.  
  
  
“Here you go, boss,” Justin said quietly, taking a pair of black, circular eyeglasses from the table next to the bed and handing them to its occupant.  
  
  
Harry slid them onto the bridge of his nose with a shaky hand and then opened his eyes experimentally. From the look on his face, Justin guessed that Harry wasn’t pleased with the outcome of that experiment.  
  
  
“Everyone... alright?” Harry’s voice sounded like he’d been gargling sand.  
  
  
“Here, have some of this.” Justin held a glass of water with a straw in front of Harry’s face. Harry sucked down half the glass while Justin spoke. “Neville just had a twisted ankle and ringing in his ears. He’s back at the Ministry, briefing Robards and Kingsley. Terry had a concussion and two broken ribs. Susan had a concussion, second degree burns, lots of cuts from the flying glass and a broken collarbone from the Hogwarts Express over here landing on top of her.”  
  
  
“Very bloody funny.” In the room’s other bed, Ron propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look at Harry. “You try taking three pain potions and see if you don’t snore a little.”  
  
  
“ _A little?_ ” Justin replied with a grin. “Ron, you were shaking the windows.”  
  
  
Harry lowered his head back onto the pillow. “How long?”  
  
  
“Optimistically, the Healer thinks that you might be out of here by Tuesday,” Justin answered.  
  
  
“No, how long was I out?”  
  
  
“Oh.” Justin checked his watch. “We got here about three and a half hours ago.”  
  
  
“‘Mione says she hopes you feel better,” Ron added. “You were out when she stopped by. She’s planning to visit again this evening.”  
  
  
A frown had settled on Harry’s face. “The muggle woman, how is she?”  
  
  
“I don’t know,” Justin replied. “They whisked her away as soon as we got here.”  
  
  
Harry’s frown deepened. Without any warning, he suddenly hauled himself to a sitting position. Justin watched in disbelief as Harry pushed the sheets away from him. A loud grunt of pain escaped his lips as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.  
  
  
“Mate,” Ron said, looking very concerned, “we’re not supposed to be up and about.”  
  
  
Harry ignored him and, finding his clothes in a dirty, bloody pile at the foot of his bed, he shed the thin hospital gown and started to put them back on.  
  
  
“Harry, Ron’s right. You need time to heal.” Justin stood from his seat as Ron sat upright in bed.  
  
  
“We’ve already lost too much time,” Harry muttered through clenched teeth. The lines on his forehead deepened as he fought through the pain of bending over to pull his socks on. “Jugson will find out we survived and he’ll go even deeper underground.”  
  
  
“Harry, you can’t...” The sentence died on Ron’s lips as Harry stood up and limped out of the room. Justin and Ron started at each other for a moment, trying to figure out what to do next. Then a voice echoed from the corridor.  
  
  
“Mr. Potter, return to your bed this instant!”  
  
  
Justin sighed and made his way toward the door. Behind him, Ron struggled out of bed and pulled a robe on over his hospital gown. Halfway down the corridor, he found the source of the commotion. Harry was forcing his way past a middle-aged wizard in Healer’s robes who seemed to be operating under the flawed assumption that mere words were going to change his mind. Justin almost found the scene amusing. Madam Pomfrey hadn’t been taking the piss when she declared Harry the worst patient in the history of magical medicine.  
  
  
“Mr. Potter,” the Healer continued as he tried and failed to impede Harry’s progress, “you’re suffering from a concussion, severe blood loss, a separated shoulder, nerve damage to your hands and face and flash burns to your-”  
  
  
“Where is she?” Harry interjected, looking past the Healer toward the nurse’s station.  
  
  
“Where is who?” the Healer replied curtly.  
  
  
It dawned on Justin what Harry meant to do, and he jogged the last few steps to his boss’s side. “Harry, you can’t. She just-”  
  
  
“The muggle woman who was brought in with us,” Harry snapped, suddenly fixing the Healer with a withering stare. “Where is she?”  
  
  
“Harry.” Ron was limping toward them. The urgent tone of his voice seemed to give Harry a moment’s pause, but it didn’t last.  
  
  
“Mr. Potter,” the Healer replied, raising his voice in response to Harry’s aggressive posture, “the only patient we’re discussing at the moment is you. Now I need you to-”  
  
  
“So you don’t know,” Harry surmised. He once again stepped around the angry Healer and resumed his hurried limp toward the nurse’s station.  
  
  
Justin moved quickly to intercept Harry as Ron struggled mightily to keep up. “Harry, slow down. She was hurt even worse than you were. If Neville wasn’t a pretty dab hand with healing charms, she would have died.”  
  
  
“And she wouldn’t have been the last!” Harry shot back, refusing to pause. “Jugson is still out there. She might know something about where he went.”  
  
  
The three Aurors reached the nurse’s station and Harry locked eyes with a young wizard working behind the counter. “You. Where would they take a muggle who was brought in here with severe injuries?”  
  
  
The young man stared back at Harry and the red-faced Healer following in his wake, looking very much like a deer caught in headlights. “I... um...”  
  
  
“Hold your tongue, Mr. Barnes!” the angry Healer demanded. “It would be a violation of hospital policy to-”  
  
  
“We’re in pursuit of a marked Death Eater who’s accused of more crimes than I have time to list,” Harry shot back. “He tried to kill every person who came in with me today, including the muggle woman. If you don’t help me, he’ll kill even more people.” Harry’s gravelly voice softened a bit, but the hard look in his eyes remained. “Please.”  
  
  
Barnes looked back to the Healer, then shifted his gaze back to Harry. It occurred to Justin that he was holding his breath. “She would have been taken to the Muggle Isolation Ward on the sixth floor. That’s where the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes sends muggles who get injured in, well, magical accidents.”  
  
  
Harry turned away from the station and started off toward the lifts. Ron and Justin followed close behind while the flustered Healer continued to try to accost them.  
  
  
“Seriously, Mr. Potter. Do you believe you’re in any condition to apprehend a dark wizard? You can barely walk! The spells holding your shoulder together wouldn’t last-”  
  
  
As soon as Justin and Ron stepped into the lift behind Harry, he turned and cast a shield charm that held the Healer at bay until the doors slid closed.  
  
  
“Sixth floor,” Harry growled. Justin lunged forward, barely catching Harry as the lift lurched upward and he nearly collapsed.  
  
  
“Mate, this is mad,” Ron blurted out while grabbing onto the side of the elevator to steady his own shaky legs. “She’s probably still unconscious.”  
  
  
“Then we’ll wait for her to wake up,” Harry replied. Justin found it strange to have his boss leaning on him for support. He had always thought of Harry as being nearly invincible. They all did. In an odd sort of way, it gave him an even greater appreciation of Harry’s strength and determination to know that he was no more immune to injury than anyone else.  
  
  
The lift doors opened and the three Aurors stepped out into a long corridor. “Can somebody read that sign?” Harry asked, squinting as he adjusted his glasses. “Everything’s still a bit... fuzzy.”  
  
  
Justin debated another attempt to talk Harry back into bed, but there didn’t seem to be much of a point. “This way,” he sighed, gesturing to his left.  
  
  
As Harry led the way, Justin and Ron exchanged concerned looks behind his back. Justin decided that their best hope was that the muggle woman was too badly injured to speak to them. When you were dealing with Harry Potter, it was often ironic what counted as your best hope.  
  
  
Harry turned the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. Justin had to sidestep a bit to avoid running into his boss’s back. Standing in the middle of the hallway was a witch in white nurse’s robes. Based on her grey hair and weathered face, Justin would have guessed she was in her sixties. Based on the wand she was pointing at the center of Harry’s chest, Justin felt certain that she was very upset.  
  
  
“That’s far enough, Mr. Potter.” She jabbed the wand toward them to emphasize the gravity of her statement. “Healer Branscombe warned me that you were coming. Perhaps they let you do as you please at the Ministry, but not in my ward. My patient is in no condition to answer your questions.”  
  
  
Justin heard Harry take a raspy breath as he kept his eyes fixed on the older witch’s wand. Clearly she was no match for the three of them, even with Harry and Ron being hurt. Cursing a nurse in a hospital was out of the question, though. When Harry spoke, he sounded much calmer.  
  
  
“We’re not looking for a fight, but I need to speak with her. The wizard who hurt her is still on the loose, and he’ll hurt more people if we don’t stop him.”  
  
  
“Typical,” the nurse replied, adjusting her grip on her wand. “Always the way with your sort.”  
  
  
Harry continued to stare at her, but Ron plainly took exception to her statement. “ _Our sort?_ What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
  
“It means _Aurors_ ,” she shot back angrily. “Yes, I know _your sort_ very well, Mr. Weasley. You strut in here with your chests puffed out, demanding to interview victims because it helps _your case_ , _your investigation_ , _your career_. You never spare a thought for the ones who’ve had to live these nightmares. Before that poor girl had the misfortune to run across a dark wizard, she had no idea that somebody could break her bones with the wave of a wand, torture her with a single word. Do you honestly think she’s ready to discuss these things?”  
  
  
There was a long moment of silence. Justin considered the implications of what she was saying. The idea that the poor girl had been brutalized wasn’t surprising, considering it was Jugson they were talking about, but the nurse’s blunt assessment made it all immediate and real. Justin couldn’t help but think about his own family and their abrupt introduction to the world of magic. Even after Professor McGonagall’s patient explanation, his mother and father tried to talk him into attending Eton instead of Hogwarts. It would have been a terrible mistake, but with the benefit of hindsight he could understand where they were coming from. Magic, even the helpful type, could be frightening to those who were unprepared.  
  
  
“Wait a minute,” Ron countered after taking a moment to ponder what she’d said. “Are you saying he used the Cruciatus Curse on her?”  
  
  
“I’m saying that she’s suffering from severe physical and psychological trauma,” the nurse responded brusquely. Her voice continued to rise as she went on. “I’m saying that she has symptoms consistent with being placed under the Imperius Curse. I’m saying that her bones have been repeatedly broken and then healed, poorly, with magic. I’m saying that we found evidence of contraceptive charms being applied to her for reasons that must be obvious even to _you_. And yes, Mr. Weasley, I’m saying that she’s been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse.”  
  
  
Ron stumbled over his words for a moment before sputtering out, “But that’s not possible. Muggles can’t survive the Cruciatus Curse. Everyone knows that.”  
  
  
Justin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of the three Aurors, he seemed to be the one that she disliked least because she favored him with a brief look of incredulity. Perhaps it was the fact he’d stayed quiet the entire time. “He’s a pureblood,” Justin offered weakly. “He means well.”  
  
  
The nurse snorted mirthlessly in response, but she kept her wand trained on the middle of Harry’s chest. Harry slowly raised his palms and winced in discomfort. “I take it you’re a half-blood, then?”  
  
  
The old nurse stared at him suspiciously for a moment before answering. “My father was a muggle and my mother was a witch. What of it?”  
  
  
“So you must have muggle relatives, then?” Harry continued. “Aunts, uncles, cousins? Maybe even a sibling?”  
  
  
“My personal life is none of your concern, Mr. Potter!” she snapped.  
  
  
Harry lowered his hands to a more neutral position and took half a step toward her. “It’s a simple question, I’m not asking for their names.” The old witch jabbed her wand toward them, trying to make Harry step back, but he held his ground. “My mother was muggle-born. I was raised by my muggle aunt and uncle until I was old enough to go to Hogwarts.”  
  
  
“I take the Prophet, Mr. Potter,” she replied tersely. “I’m familiar with the unfortunate circumstances of your upbringing. As it happens, my brother is a muggle and I’ve remained close with his family.”  
  
  
“So it’s fair to say that you don’t want to see any harm come to them, is that correct?” Harry’s voice stayed perfectly neutral.  
  
  
The nurse’s eyes narrowed and Justin thought he saw a stream of faint red sparks coming from the tip of her wand. “Are you threatening my family, Mr. Potter?”  
  
  
“No,” Harry replied simply, “but the man we’re after is a threat to every muggle who encounters him. He’s a Death Eater and a pureblood fanatic. The poor woman we brought in here? Her life meant _nothing_ to him. He used her up and when he was done with her, he handed her a bomb and left her to die.”  
  
  
“And what is _your_ use for her? A means of keeping your name on the front page of the Prophet?” Justin felt a surge of irritation at her words. Did she seriously believe that they only wanted to catch Jugson for the fame and recognition? Justin had seen his face on the front page of the Prophet several times already. Like Harry, he’d come to dislike the notoriety. It made his job -- indeed his life -- more difficult. The old nurse’s accusatory stare was starting to wear very thin with him. “Tell me Mr. Potter, how much will her life mean to you once you’ve closed this case and moved on?”  
  
  
“ _Her life does matter!_ ” Justin could feel his hands shaking. He stuffed them inside his pockets and wrapped his fingers around his Auror badge, drawing a measure of composure from the weight of the smooth metal in his hand. “My mum and dad are both muggles. So’s my sister. If you think I value their lives one bit less because they’re not magical...”  
  
  
Justin noticed that the old witch was staring at him with a hint of interest behind her hard eyes. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say next. He took a deep breath and just let his thoughts flow out. “When I got my summons from the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, I told them I had to go on the run. Anyone who was at Hogwarts when Dolores Umbridge was there knew what she was all about. I told them I had to go alone. I explained to them what would happen to them if the Snatchers found them with me.”  
  
  
He could feel the tightness in his chest as his voice shook a bit. “They wouldn’t hear of it. My dad left his job and they pulled my sister out of school. We packed up whatever we could and moved to a rented flat in Hackney. My dad found part-time work as a bookkeeper at a local market. He was a senior partner at his firm in London, but he took a job that paid peanuts, cash in hand, just so nobody could track us. He and my mum taught my sister and I as best they could. I had to hide my wand inside the ceiling until I turned seventeen and the Trace broke.”  
  
  
The old nurse nodded slowly, and he took a steadying breath to shake off long-forgotten feelings of gloom. “There were scary things happening everywhere, things the muggle government couldn’t explain. I was pretty sure I knew what the signs meant. Every time somebody knocked on our door, we held our breath and hid in the back bedroom. But no matter how bad things got, my parents never once regretted the choice they made.”  
  
  
Justin pulled out his badge and held it in front of him. “I understand how you feel about Aurors, ma’am. Some of the ones we work with are arrogant, self-important tossers who just see the job as a ladder to climb. I can’t speak for them, I can only speak for myself. I joined the Aurors to try to pay back the sacrifice my family made, the risks they took to make sure I stayed alive. I joined the Aurors to keep them safe from wizards like the one we’re after.”  
  
  
He slowly returned be badge to his pocket. “We need your help. Help us talk to her without hurting her any more. Jugson is a monster. Help us get him off of the streets before he hurts anybody else.”  
  
  
The old nurse slowly lowered her wand without ever taking her eyes off of Justin. She seemed to be weighing a number of unappealing options in her head. “I’ll allow you five minutes. Not a second more! If _anything_ upsets her, you will leave immediately. Do you agree?”  
  
  
All three Aurors nodded somberly. The old nurse pocketed her wand before continuing. “I’ll need several minutes to prepare her to speak with you. Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, I suggest you make use of this time to find appropriate clothing. No robes or cloaks, nothing that makes you look like wizards,” she added pointedly.  
  
  
“Thank you,” Harry replied quietly. “I promise we’ll make this as easy for her as possible. And if she needs anything to move on with her life once she’s fit to leave the hospital, contact me at the Ministry. I’ll make sure she gets it.”  
  
  
The old nurse stared at him curiously for a moment. “I’ll be sure to pass that along, Mr. Potter.”  
  
  
She disappeared through a heavy wooden door and Justin turned to Harry and Ron. “We passed a loo in the corridor. Let’s see about fixing the two of you up.”  
  
  
Ron summoned his clothes as they walked and he went into the gents first to dress and try to magically modify his clothes to look more like a muggle. “You think he’ll get it on the first try?” Justin asked, smirking a bit.  
  
  
A small grin briefly appeared on Harry’s weary face. “Probably not. Try to make his clothes match while I fix this mess up.”  
  
  
Justin paused for a moment to study just how awful Harry really looked. His shirt and trousers were riddled with small tears from flying debris and there was a huge bloodstain that stretched from his neck to his shoulder. Every inch of him was covered in dust and ash and his face was criss-crossed with red scars that had been open cuts less than three hours ago. “Harry, are you really sure you’re up to this?” Justin asked quietly. “We could call Robards. Even he wouldn’t turn his nose up at a chance to catch Jugson.”  
  
  
Harry stayed silent for a moment, staring at his filthy, blood-stained boots. “I have to do this, Justin,” he finally replied without looking up. “She gave her life to try to help us catch Jugson. I can’t just hand this to Robards and the others and take a chance of them cocking it up.”  
  
  
His reply sparked a connection in Justin’s head, one that he’d been pondering on since before they left the destroyed house in East Sussex. “She was the informant, wasn’t she? The elf, Bizzy.”  
  
  
Harry nodded slowly, still not looking up. “She hated the things that Jugson made her do. Hated that she was ordered to help murderers and rapists escape. She couldn’t betray Jugson because he was her master, but he never ordered her not to betray the others. It never occurred to him. He thought she was just a stupid, cowardly animal. He never had any idea how brave she really was. Nobody did.” A snort of bitter, mirthless laughter escaped from Harry’s lips and his shoulders drooped even lower. “Nobody except me.”  
  
  
“It isn’t your fault, Harry,” Justin replied, trying his best to offer support. “She must have known-”  
  
  
“Justin.” Harry abruptly looked up. A touch of exasperation was evident in his eyes. “After the past three years, I’ve pretty much got the ‘don’t blame yourself’ speech memorized, mate. I know she knew the risks. I know it was her decision. I...” He seemed to struggle a bit to get the next sentence out. “I know it’s not my fault that she died. But she died for a reason.”  
  
  
Justin nodded in acknowledgment. Harry’s deep green eyes were locked on his. “She’s no different from Fred and Remus and Tonks and all the others who died. It... it doesn’t make a difference if you blame yourself for what happened, it only makes a difference if you do something about it. That’s what Kingsley’s been telling me since the battle at Hogwarts and... well, I guess maybe I’m starting to believe it. The war’s not over. Not as long as people like Jugson are still on the loose. That’s why we have to find out what the muggle woman knows.” Harry paused and stared at the wall over Justin’s shoulder. His voice became quiet but no less sincere. “I want it to be over.”  
  
  
Without really thinking about it, Justin reached out and gently gripped Harry’s shoulder. “We all want it to be over, Harry. You and Ron remember that, yeah?”  
  
  
Harry nodded solemnly in understanding just as the door to the loo opened. Ron stepped out and held his arms out from his sides. He was wearing a red and black tartan suit with a mustard yellow tie. “Pretty smart, yeah?” he asked, staring down approvingly. “George says that the suit makes the man.” Harry lowered his forehead into his hand for a moment before stepping toward the door of the loo.  
  
  
“Ace, Ron. Justin might have a couple small suggestions.” _Fix it_ , Harry mouthed to Justin as he stepped inside and closed the door.  
  
  
After toning Ron’s suit down several notches, Justin charmed his own clothes to be closer to the current muggle fashion. As he was tucking his wand away, Ron quietly asked, “How is he? You know, _mentally_?”  
  
  
Justin took a moment to consider his answer. “You mean aside from the fact that he’s up and walking around with injuries that would have Dawlish laying out on sick leave til New Years?”  
  
  
“Well, yeah,” Ron responded thoughtfully. “Aside from the fact that it’s Harry we’re talking about.”  
  
  
“I think he’s good,” Justin answered. “We talked about it while you were changing. For Harry, I think he’s doing alright.”  
  
  
Ron nodded, not looking entirely convinced. A few moments later, Harry emerged from the loo looking clean and presentable if not exactly sound. As the three Aurors made their way back to the wooden door, Justin quietly asked, “How do you want to handle this, Harry? I mean, she might not know anything or be able to remember the things that she does know.” He recalled the furious look in the old nurse’s eyes as he held them at wandpoint. “How far can we really push her before we’re doing more harm than good?”  
  
  
Harry shrugged his shoulders slightly and winced in pain from the injured one. “Dunno. Hopefully she’s angry enough at what Jugson did to her that she’ll spill everything she remembers. If not, we’ll just play it by ear.”  
  
  
They had been waiting outside the door for a minute or so when it opened and the nurse reappeared, wearing the traditional white dress of a muggle nurse. “She’s awake, but we’ve had to give her pain medications,” the old witch explained. “The healers have cast a spell on her that keeps her from noticing her missing hand. Since you had the foresight to remove it with a charm instead of a curse, Mr. Potter, we should be able to regrow it.” Justin thought that he could detect a hint of approval in her stern eyes. “I will once again caution you all, her condition is precarious. If anything you ask upsets her in any way, you will be ordered to leave. Is that clear?”  
  
  
Justin nodded in response, along with Ron and Harry. The old nurse slipped muggle-style hospital gowns over their clothes and led them into the Muggle Isolation Ward. The change was as abrupt as stepping through the door of the Leaky Cauldron. Gone were the polished gold lamps and marble floors of St. Mungo’s, replaced with fluorescent lights, linoleum floors and formica countertops. Ron’s eyes darted to and fro, an odd sort of wonder evident on his freckled face. Halfway down the corridor, they paused in front of the door to one of the patient rooms.  
  
  
“Her name is Teresa,” the nurse said. The way her hand was gripping the doorknob implied yet again that nobody would be entering until she was satisfied that they understood the situation. “She’s originally from Robertsbridge, she’s twenty-six years old and she was a nursery teacher in Crowborough. Based on the residual magic in her system, the Healers estimate that she first encountered your dark wizard between eight and ten days ago.”  
  
  
Justin nodded absently as he pondered the timeline that the Healers’ estimates implied. It was unheard of for Jugson to remain in one place for a week. Either he’d grown very confident in his ability to stay hidden or he enjoyed abusing this particular muggle a great deal. After one last appraising sweep of her eyes, the nurse opened the door and the three Aurors followed her into the room.  
  
  
“Hello, Teresa. These are the visitors I was telling you about.” The nurse’s voice changed so dramatically from the harsh, accusatory tone she’d been using with them that Justin struggled to keep the surprise off of his face. The muggle woman slowly opened her eyes and stared at them. Both of her eyes were blackened and her face and arms were covered with bruises. A thick layer of white bandages covered the stump of her left wrist. If Justin narrowed his eyes and concentrated, he could just make out dim flashes of magic coming from a number of objects around her bed that were charmed to look like muggle medical instruments.  
  
  
The muggle woman didn’t respond immediately, so the nurse kept speaking in her warm, cheerful voice.” This is Inspector Harry Potter and his colleagues Ronald Weasley and Justin...” She paused for a moment, looking slightly embarrassed.  
  
  
“Finch-Fletchley,” Justin filled in for her.  
  
  
The nurse smiled gratefully and continued. “They’re from the Sussex Police RIT. If you feel up to it-” Justin noticed that she emphasized those words heavily, “they’d like to ask you a few questions.”  
  
  
The muggle woman seemed to struggle a bit to focus on the three of them. Then her eyes grew wide and she briefly tried to sit up before collapsing back onto her bed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered in a hoarse voice. “I’m so ashamed. Please forgive me.”  
  
  
“Teresa, what’s the matter?” the nurse asked, her voice heavy with concern. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”  
  
  
“Lying here like this,” the muggle woman whispered, gesturing weakly toward herself. “I’m useless and I look terrible. Master would be so disappointed. He would...” She shuddered involuntarily. “...terrible things. Please, forgive me.”  
  
  
The look on the nurse’s face was rapidly shifting from concern to alarm. Harry took a measured step closer to the bed and spoke slowly and calmly. “Teresa, who do you mean when you say Master? Why would he be disappointed?”  
  
  
Justin noticed that Teresa looked down, not meeting Harry’s eyes as she spoke. “I’m worthless. I haven’t even taken your coats or asked if you’re hungry or thirsty. Master would be furious...”  
  
  
“Teresa,” Harry responded, “we’re here to try to help you. Why do you think you need to wait on us? Did this Master make you do that?”  
  
  
“Horrible. I’m just horrible!” Teresa appeared to be near tears. “That’s why Master left me. I’m not even worthy to be punished. I’m-”  
  
  
“Teresa, please, calm down,” the nurse interrupted, stepping closer to her bedside. “If you don’t feel strong enough to talk to these gentlemen right now, they’ll be happy to come back another time.”  
  
  
“No, no!” Teresa’s hoarse whisper was thick with panic. “I can’t keep them waiting.” Again, she tried and failed to pull herself to a sitting position. “I’m so ashamed.”  
  
  
Teresa continued to struggle with her injured body as the old nurse moved to her bedside and tried to calm her. “I’m sure you gentlemen remember our agreement,” she said without looking away from her patient. “I think it’s time for you to leave us.”  
  
  
Justin and Ron started to turn toward the door, causing Teresa to let out a small yelp. “You don’t understand!” she cried. “We can’t disappoint them.” The terrified muggle woman lowered her voice to a whisper. Her next words froze everyone in the room. “They’re wizards.”  
  
  
For a long moment nobody moved or said anything. Even the old nurse seemed to be at a loss for what to say. Harry recovered first. He moved to the foot of the bed and gently asked, “Teresa, how did you know that?”  
  
  
“Master told me if I was ever caught that men would come and want to ask me questions,” she replied in the same terrified whisper. “He said they would pretend they weren’t wizards, but it would be a lie. He told me they’d make me tell them things, make me hurt if I didn’t.”  
  
  
Harry took a deep breath and stared straight into her eyes. “It’s true. We are wizards. But we aren’t going to hurt you and we aren’t going to make you do anything. We need your help. We need to find the wizard you call ‘Master’.”  
  
  
Teresa stared back at Harry uncertainly. “I don’t think Master wants to be found. You shouldn’t go looking for him. I think that would make him angry.” Her entire body seemed to tremble with fear. “He does terrible things when he’s angry.”  
  
  
“I know the kinds of things he does,” Harry replied. Justin could hear a thin edge of anger in his otherwise calm voice. “We need to talk to him, Teresa. We have a very important message for him.”  
  
  
A long moment of silence passed as the muggle woman worried at the hem of her bedsheets. She seemed to be struggling with a very difficult decision. “Maybe you could use one of your magic birds?” Her voice was filled with trepidation and uncertainty. “The bird could take the message to him.”  
  
  
“We can’t use an owl for this message,” Harry replied evenly. “It’s too important. Do you know where he might have gone?”  
  
  
“He could go anywhere, he has magic.” The strain in Teresa’s voice was unmistakable. Justin stole a quick glance at the nurse, searching for any sign that they were about to be asked to leave again. For the moment, she also seemed very interested in what the muggle woman had to say.  
  
  
“I know that, Teresa,” Harry responded patiently. “But he’s also a very smart, very careful man. I don’t think he’d go just anywhere. Do you remember him mentioning any places he’d been to? Maybe someplace special to him?”  
  
  
Teresa seemed to be thinking very hard. Justin suspected that she was thinking more about how to _not answer_ the question than how to answer it. “No. Master never took me anywhere. He always sent the little one, Bizzy, if he needed something.”  
  
  
Justin felt a stab of remorse when she mentioned the elf, but the panicked tension on her face seemed to soften slightly. For a moment she looked almost wistful. Harry plainly hadn’t missed it. “Did you like Bizzy?” he asked gently. Teresa nodded slowly and cautiously, as though she was trying to figure out where Harry was going with the question. “I liked her, too. She had a good heart and she was very brave.”  
  
  
She seemed to ponder Harry’s words for a moment before her eyes widened. “Why are you talking about her like that? In the past?”  
  
  
Even Harry wasn’t able to completely keep the sadness off of his face. “Teresa, Bizzy died. The man you call Master killed her.”  
  
  
Teresa’s face turned ashen and her good hand clutched at the front of her hospital gown. A few tears spilled onto her battered cheeks. “Bizzy was very kind. She used to bring me fresh-picked apples and cobnuts when Master was away. She was always nice to me, even though I didn’t deserve it.”  
  
  
Something clicked in the back of Justin’s mind, a connection that wouldn’t immediately take shape. He filed it away for the moment. Teresa seemed to be getting emotional. It was risky in that the nurse might end their conversation prematurely, but strong emotions tended to make people talkative. He tried to pay attention to every word and expression.  
  
  
“You’re wrong, Teresa.” Harry’s voice was firm, but kind. “Nobody deserves to be treated the way that this man treated you and Bizzy. Wizards have laws against using magic to hurt people and make them do things. Especially people like you, who don’t have magic. That’s why we’re looking for him.” He pulled his badge out of his pocket and held it out in front of her. “We’re police officers. Ron, Justin and I work for the wizard government. If you help us find him, we’ll make sure that he never hurts anybody again.”  
  
  
Teresa stared at Harry’s Auror badge, looking stricken. She finally looked back at Harry. “You... you mean you’d put him in prison?”  
  
  
“That’s right,” Harry replied. “There is a special prison where wizards go when they break the law. Even with his magic, he wouldn’t be able to escape.”  
  
  
“You... you can’t do that!” she finally stammered out. “Master is the most powerful wizard alive.”  
  
  
“Even powerful wizards must obey the law, Teresa.” Justin’s head snapped around in surprise. It was the first time the old nurse had spoken since the young woman identified them as wizards.  
  
  
“No!” The look of anguish on Teresa’s face deepened. When she spoke, Justin thought that she sounded more like she was addressing herself. “Master’s magic is older, stronger, purer. They tried to destroy master’s family during World War Two, but they failed. Master told me so. He’s going to pay them all back. Master will pay them back.”  
  
  
The pieces suddenly fell into place in Justin’s head. “Kent!” Harry and Ron both turned to look at him. “They grow cobnuts in Kent, and Kent was on the front lines during the Blitz.”  
  
  
Ron looked down and worried at the inside of his lip for a second, deep in thought. Then he looked up with wide eyes. “There’s a very old wizarding village near Canterbury. My great grandparents lived there, the Prewett ones. Lots of pureblood families did. Most of it got blown up when our muggles were fighting the German muggles. Mum said the old family homes are mostly abandoned now.”  
  
  
“Justin, go check up on Terry and Susan,” Harry directed. “Bring them up to speed. Ron, find a floo and call your mum. See if she knows whether any of Jugson’s family had a house in that village. I’m going to let Kingsley know what’s going on.”  
  
  
A pitiful yelp brought all of the Aurors’ hasty planning to a halt. Teresa was once again trying to pull herself out of bed, muttering, “No, no, no.” The nurse hurried to her side, but tears were no streaming down her face and she appeared inconsolable.  
  
  
“Teresa, everything’s going to be alright,” Harry said soothingly. “You’re perfectly safe here. We’ll make sure that you’re protected, even after you leave the hospital. That... _monster_ will never hurt you again.”  
  
  
“You can’t!” Teresa was moaning as she struggled to free herself from the nurse’s strong hands. “You can’t put him in prison. Please!”  
  
  
From the looks on Ron and Harry’s faces, Justin concluded that they felt every bit as bewildered as he did. “Teresa, why don’t you want him to go to prison?” Harry asked. “He controlled you, tortured you, held you captive in your own home. What is it you’re afraid of?”  
  
  
The muggle woman’s eyes flicked desperately back and forth, as though she was looking for a way to flee the room. Justin noticed her lips twitching, as though she was talking silently to herself. Finally her eyes settled on Harry. “Please, just let me go. Master will never forgive me if I tell you. He’ll... it’s too terrible to say what he’ll do.”  
  
  
Harry took a step around to the side of her bed. Justin flinched involuntarily at the pain he could see on Harry’s face as Harry knelt down so that he was almost at eye level with Teresa. “I can’t do that, Teresa. But I can help you. Whatever it is you’re frightened of, we’ll deal with it. But only if you tell me what it is.”  
  
  
Teresa stared at Harry’s bruised face for a long moment before lowering her eyes to her lap. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “If you put him in prison, I’ll never see my son again.”  
  
  
A terrible, cold weight settled into the pit of Justin’s stomach. He rapidly blinked his eyes, willing his brain not to work. Something awful was lurking just at the edge of his awareness, and while his body had already worked it out, he felt a desperate need to keep his mind from catching up. Justin stared at Harry, hoping against all hope that The Chosen One could once again pull a miracle out of thin air. Instead, Harry spoke the words that brought the terrible realization crashing home.  
  
  
“Your son’s name is Donny, isn’t he?” Harry’s voice sounded hollow, dead and drained of all emotion.  
  
  
For a brief moment, Teresa’s eyes lit up. “Do you know where he is? Master turned him into a dog when I was too slow refilling his drink. But you can turn him back, can’t you? You’re a wizard! Please, turn him back! Please!”  
  
  
Justin closed his eyes. It felt like someone had closed a cold steel vice on his heart. Harry’s voice sounded muted and far away. “Teresa, there’s something you need to know.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Even after the door to the Muggle Isolation Ward closed behind them, Justin thought he could still hear Teresa’s wails of anguish. The sound was burned into his mind, just as the devastated look on her face haunted him when he closed his eyes. Ron pressed his back against the wall and slowly slid to the floor with his face in his hands. Harry stared into empty space, pressing the tip of his wand into the palm of his left hand. It looked painful to Justin, assuming one could feel anything.  
  
  
When the nurse emerged from behind the heavy wooden door, the fire was conspicuously missing from her eyes. Before he quite realized what he was doing, Justin found himself toe to toe with her.  
  
  
“You have to make her forget.” His voice sounded shaky, a sharp contrast to the absolute moral certainty that he felt. “Give her a whole new life, new memories, new everything. We can’t leave her like this.”  
  
  
The sympathy he found in the old nurse’s weary eyes was maddening. Her voice was firm, but quiet. “We can’t do that. If you think about it, I’m sure you’ll understand why.”  
  
  
“No! I don’t understand!” Justin’s hands were shaking and he wrung them together behind his back to try to still the tremors. “ _You_ were the one lecturing _us_ about what people don’t want to remember! Do you really think she wants to spend the rest of her life mourning her little boy who Mortitius Jugson turned into a fucking dog and murdered?”  
  
  
He’d been shouting into her face, but her unperturbable calm remained. “The particulars needn’t remain as they are, but she has every right to mourn the death of her son,” the nurse countered. “It would violate our most basic principles to take that away from her.”  
  
  
Justin spun away, unable to continue looking into her gentle, unwavering eyes. “So she ends up remembering what? That her son got sick and died? That he drowned in the bathtub? Fell asleep and just never woke up?” The injustice of it all felt like it was eating away at his insides. “That’s even worse! If you’re going to make her live with this then she has the right to look Jugson in the eyes before we lock him up in Azkaban and throw away the key. She has the right to tell him to burn in hell!” He stubbed the toe of his boot against the wall.  
  
  
“We can’t do that, Justin.” Harry’s voice sounded surprisingly steady, but there was a hard edge to it. Justin turned and looked at his boss. “Leaving her bitter and angry when there’s not a bloody thing she can do about it would be more cruel than anything Jugson did to her. It’ll consume her. Let her grieve. Let her move on.”  
  
  
To Justin, it didn’t sound like enough. “She’s lost so much, Harry. She has the right to be angry. We can’t take that from her.”  
  
  
“We’re not taking anything away from her.” Something was slowly filling the cold emptiness in Harry’s green eyes. A dark, smoldering intensity that mirrored Justin’s own churning emotions. “Whether she knows it or not, we’ll make sure she gets justice. For her and for Donny and for Bizzy, too.” Ron looked up from his spot on the floor. His eyes were red, but his jaw was set in a grim scowl. Harry tucked his wand away and closed his eyes. “We can be angry for her.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, dear readers. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, even if it was a bit on the sad side.
> 
> As always, many thanks to my beta reader, sophie_hatter. If you haven't read her story, Evolution, I promise you'll enjoy it!
> 
> If you could spare a moment to leave a review, I would be most grateful.


	4. Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, that which you recognize from the books belongs to the inimitable JK Rowling.

_The way that he stared at her made her nervous. That was the first thing she noticed about the grim, swarthy-looking man who seemed to appear out of nowhere and occupy the table across from her. When he looked at her, his eyes lingered a bit too long. His gaze was a little too intense, like he was sizing her up for some purpose she could only imagine. His clothes were also strange. They looked formal, yet messy, as though he’d slept in a very old suit. He made her uncomfortable, and she laid a five pound note on the table to cover her lunch and started to gather her things.  
  
  
“Why don’t you stay a while longer?” His voice was filled with oily menace and something... else. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, but made her skin crawl. There was a strange resonance to his voice, an overtone that seemed to echo in the depths of her mind. More than anything, she wanted to get away from him. So she was very surprised to find herself settling back into her chair. “Tell me, do you live alone?”  
  
  
She knew that she needed to lie to him. To make up a six foot, two hundred and twenty pound boyfriend who worked at a gym. But her voice betrayed her just as her legs had. “I live with my son. He’s three.”  
  
  
Far from seeming pleased with her answer, the man fixed her with a condescending sneer. “You probably live in some filthy tenement, then.”  
  
  
Fear and surprise and indignation filled her thoughts but none of those emotions managed to touch her voice, which remained infuriatingly calm. “We live in a house in East Sussex.”  
  
  
Interest creeped across his face and he stared at her as though she was transparent. “Show me.”_  
  
  
“Harry?”  
  
  
Harry’s attention snapped back to the blonde Auror standing in front of him even as the image of Jugson’s twisted stare lingered in his mind. He forced his back teeth to unclench and muttered, “Sorry, what was that again?”  
  
  
Susan stared at him for a second before repeating herself. “I said that the wards are very complex. Old magic, reinforced over generations. I’d need at least a day to take them down. If we start casting anti-disapparition jinxes, whoever’s inside will know instantly.”  
  
  
Harry nodded slowly before turning back toward the weather-worn walls of the old Georgian mansion. Somewhere behind the thick layers of stone and grime, Jugson was hiding, probably celebrating their deaths. The estate had passed from the dark wizard’s maternal grandfather to his uncle, who died in Azkaban after the first war. All records of ownership had mysteriously disappeared during the second war. It didn’t take Hermione’s brilliance to make the connection. Nor did it take her strong sense of right and wrong to feel sickened by a coward who murdered innocent children before slithering back into the shadows.  
  
  
Turning to his battered and bruised team, Harry summoned as much composure as he could muster. Their feelings were etched across their faces. All of them volunteered for this mission, injuries be damned. They all wanted to see the case through to its end. They all wanted to make Jugson pay for what he’d done to Teresa and Donny. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry could almost hear old Mad-Eye voicing his disapproval. Vengeance, he would have argued, can blind a person.  
  
  
“Susan, Terry, Justin and Ron,” he directed, “get in place on the four corners of the estate, outside the wards. I’ll keep Jugson busy long enough for you four to put up the jinxes. Neville, as soon as Jugson knows I’m here, you come in and back me up. For crying out loud, Ron,” Harry added in response to his best mate’s sour look, “Neville’s in better shape for a fight.”  
  
  
“He’s in better shape than you, too, Harry,” Justin replied flatly. “So am I.” It was the truth, but not one that Harry cared to confront.  
  
  
“Sorry, but I have to do this,” he insisted. “I’m the only one who can get through the wards without setting them off.”  
  
  
“Any one of us can use the cloak, Harry,” Ron shot back. “Why does it have to be you?”  
  
  
“It’s not the same, Ron,” Harry snapped. It was one of those cases where the truth happened to coincide with what he was determined to do anyway. “It has to be me if this is gonna work. Now does everyone know what to do?” He made eye contact with each member of the team in turn, looking for their agreement or at least their grudging acceptance.  
  
  
“Alright, let’s say that’s true,” Terry replied doubtfully. “How are we supposed to know when you’re keeping him busy?”  
  
  
“Because all hell is going to break loose*,” Harry answered darkly, letting just a bit of the anger he felt slip past his control.  
  
  
“I don’t like it.” Susan crossed her arms over her chest and fixed Harry with a skeptical look. “What if he figures out somehow that you’re coming? What if you’re walking into another trap?”  
  
  
“He won’t and I’m not,” Harry answered resolutely, pulling his invisibility cloak out of the pocket of his robes and turning toward the low stone wall surrounding the estate.  
  
  
“That thing doesn’t make you invincible, Harry!” Susan retorted. He could hear a touch of pleading mixed with the sharp frustration in her voice.  
  
  
Harry responded without turning around. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. “It doesn’t have to. It just has to get me close enough to curse the bastard.”  
  
  
Ordinarily, Harry could feel something when he passed through strong wards. It was like walking through a spider’s web that clung to his magic momentarily before allowing him to pass. Covered by the cloak, he felt nothing as he scrambled over the stone wall. The ancient Peverell heirloom had changed after Harry used the Resurrection Stone. Before, it always seemed like Dumbledore knew where he was, even when he wore it. Moody’s magical eye had been able to penetrate it. After he mastered the other two hallows, the cloak had become impervious to revealing spells, magical detectors and even powerful wards. If he’d kept the Elder Wand, Harry realized, Jugson would never stand a chance. Banishing the thought from his mind, he limped up the long, unkempt path that led to the old house.  
  
  
 _The woman twisted the fabric of her dress nervously. The skimpy garment did nothing to keep the evening chill away from her pale flesh, but she knew better than to wear anything more. He wouldn’t approve. Her fingers trembled as the surly, intoxicated wizard sliced into the chicken on the plate in front of him and took a bite. He promptly spit it out and hurled his dinner to the floor with a swipe of his arm.  
  
  
“It’s COLD!”  
  
  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the woman wailed, instinctively raising her arms in a futile attempt to shield herself from his anger. “You told me to have dinner ready at half six. It’s after nine!”  
  
  
A loud slap echoed around the room and the woman fell to the ground, struck by an unseen force.  
  
  
“I don’t want to hear your excuses!” the man thundered, rising to his feet. He slashed his wand back and forth. Three more loud cracks sounded, followed by cries of pain. Angry, red welts appeared on the woman’s neck and arms. He stared down at her with a look of utter disgust. “Stupid, filthy muggle! You only exist to do three things: cook my food, make me comfortable and amuse me. You’ve failed pitifully at the first two, so I suppose we’re left with number three.”  
  
  
The woman’s horrible screams filled the two-story house. It was some time before the wizard noticed a small form standing in the doorway, wearing fuzzy pajamas with feet and clutching a monogrammed teddy bear. A cruel sneer settled onto his face. “Donny, isn’t it?”  
  
  
“Donny, go!” the muggle woman shrieked before she was silenced by a loud crack. The little boy ran through the house and up the stairs to his bedroom. His pulse raced as he desperately squeezed into the small space between his dresser and the wall. A loud crack outside his bedroom door announced the dark man’s arrival.  
  
  
The boy peeked around the cold headstone into the moonlit graveyard. He could see the monster’s evil, red eyes. “We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry. You cannot hide from me. Come out, Harry... come out and play, then... it will be quick.” **_  
  
  
Harry shook his head to clear the disturbing vision. Capturing Jugson had already become very personal, he didn’t need his mind making things worse. He carefully listened for any signs of life. There were faint sounds coming from the far side of the house and he slowed his pace to avoid making any unnecessary noise. He carefully stepped around a gathering of garden gnomes in the midst of the overgrown lawn. His boots made soft crunching sounds as he picked his way through weeds and pieces of crumbled statuary, but the cloak slid like liquid over the thorns and jagged edges. The sounds grew louder, gradually resolving into distinct voices. Harry crept up the weather-beaten stone steps leading to a large patio. At the top of the stairs, he passed through another layer of protective enchantments and the voices grew clearer.  
  
  
“You filthy, stupid muggle cow!” thundered a loud, male voice that instantly made Harry’s fists clench. “Didn’t your useless whore of a mother ever show you how to cook a quail?”  
  
  
“I... I tried. Really!” answered a terrified female voice. “The hob is so different here. I didn’t know how-”  
  
  
“Pathetic!” Harry caught a flash of motion through the filthy old window a moment before the sound of china shattering reached his ears. He stepped to the side and caught sight of Jugson’s black robes through a streak in the layer of dust coating the glass. The dark wizard towered over a blurry form in a blue dress that appeared to cower before him. “You’re making me regret killing that worthless, lying elf. It’s time you learned the price of disappointing your master.”  
  
  
The mention of Bizzy was like fuel for the smoldering rage burning inside Harry’s chest. He set his feet on the opposite side of the wall from where Jugson stood and forced himself to wait. It wouldn’t be long before the former Death Eater made his last mistake.  
  
  
The muggle woman was still pleading with Jugson, trying to appease his foul mood. For all the good it did her, she should have saved her energy. “Silence!” Jugson’s voice thundered from inside the house, followed by the loud crack of a spell. Harry saw her limp body fly through the air past the window and then he saw red.  
  
  
“ _REDUCTO!_ ” The wall exploded inward, hurling Jugson through the air in a cloud of flying debris. Harry tore the cloak off and whipped his wand up and back. The muggle woman’s body was propelled through the hole in the ruined wall and she landed in a heap on the lawn beyond the patio. An instant later, Harry was inside the house, hurling spells at Jugson as the older wizard struggled to climb to his knees and defend himself at the same time.  
  
  
“Potter,” Jugson snarled through clenched teeth as he turned aside a jet of red light that tore a hole in the wall behind him. “What does it take to kill you?”  
  
  
“More than you’ll ever have,” Harry retorted, unleashing another stunner. Jugson parried it and tried to turn on his heel, but Harry cast a nasty cutting hex directly in his path. Jugson was forced to abandon his attempt at apparition to avoid having his torso separated from his legs. “Going somewhere, you cowardly piece of shite?” Harry snarled, pressing his advantage with a barrage of fast, simple jinxes and hexes. “What’s the matter? Not so keen to take on an adult with a wand?”  
  
  
Jugson tried to turn to his other side, only to be struck by a Knockback Jinx from Harry. The older wizard spun into the wall, but managed to land in a defensive crouch. Jugson changed tactics, casting a nasty curse that filled the air with the smells of sulfur and ozone as it buffeted Harry’s shield charm. With a sweep of his wand, Harry cleared the acrid smoke away before levitating a chair and hurling it at Jugson. The former Death Eater caused the chair to explode with a curse and then redirected the flaming pieces toward Harry. For the moment, at least, it seemed that he’d lost interest in escaping.  
  
  
“I should’ve come back and finished you off,” Jugson shouted between spells. “Won’t make that mistake again. I’m gonna kill you and when the Dark Lord returns, I’ll give him your head!”  
  
  
Harry twirled his wand, wordlessly trying to disarm his opponent. “Voldemort is dead, Jugson. He’s never coming back. Unless you give up, you’ll go the same way.”  
  
  
Without warning, a coat rack by the door charged in Harry’s direction, its metal hooks reaching for him like blunt, tarnished claws. Harry shattered the spindly wooden attacker with a spell and then barely managed to turn aside a lethal blast from Jugson’s wand. The force of the curse against his shield charm threw him backwards and his injured shoulder screamed in protest as he crashed into the ragged edge of the hole in the wall. Harry landed in a heap and struggled to regain his bearings.  
  
  
“ _AVADA-_ ”  
  
  
“ _Stupefy!_ ”  
  
  
Jugson’s killing curse was cut short as a bright blue stunning spell streaked past Harry and tore through the sleeve of the Death Eater’s robes. “ _Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus!_ ” Harry stole a look over his shoulder and found Neville charging up the hill, hurling spells as he ran. Jugson easily blocked them and shot a nasty sneer at Harry before turning on his heel. The sneer turned to a look of alarm when nothing happened. A fraction of a second later Neville’s Bludgeoning Hex clipped Jugson’s shoulder and sent him whirling to the floor.  
  
  
“Don’t move!” Neville shouted, aiming his wand at Jugson’s prone form. The Death Eater groaned loudly and rolled onto his side, but the movement concealed a quick flick of his wand. The carpet in the middle of the room flew into the air and swept toward them, blocking their view. Neville snapped his wrist to the right, banishing the carpet to the side, but all the two Aurors saw was a flash of Jugson’s robes as he fled up the stairs.  
  
  
“Bloody coward!” Neville shouted, charging forward with his wand at the ready.  
  
  
“Neville, wait! Dammit!” Harry pulled himself painfully to his feet and stumbled back inside. Irritation blended with simmering anger as he heard Neville thunder up the stairs. He was chasing a dangerous fugitive into unfamiliar territory with no backup. It was stupid and he knew it. A part of Harry’s brain was screaming at him to stop, take a deep breath and regroup. Things were starting to spiral out of control. But instinct continued to propel him forward. Neville was in danger and he wasn’t about to let Jugson escape. Not when they were this close.  
  
  
Harry reached the doorway that led to the staircase and came to an abrupt halt. Where he expect to find stairs, there was nothing but an empty corridor. “Neville?” When the echoes of Harry’s shout died away, he heard the distinctive crack of spells, but it was coming from behind him. He turned and discovered that a doorway leading to a set of stairs had appeared in the wall behind him. Harry started to climb the stairs but immediately crashed into an invisible barrier and nearly fell over backwards. Reaching out, Harry felt a solid, vertical surface at the supposed entrance to the stairs, exactly where the wall used to be. It was all an illusion.  
  
  
At that instant, Justin burst into the house, closely followed by Ron. “Bloody place has defensive enchantments,” Harry quickly explained. “The furniture attacks you, real doors disappear and fake ones appear on the walls. The real stairs are through this door. Neville’s up there somewhere, fighting with Jugson.”  
  
  
“Bloke chops the head off a great, bleeding snake and now he thinks he’s Godric bloody Gryffindor,” Ron grumbled while sweeping a glance over Harry. He shared a quick look with Justin which made Harry want to hex both of them. Before Harry could speak, Ron turned to Justin and said, “Take the lead position. I’ve got your back.”  
  
  
“That’s not your call, Ron!” Harry snapped.  
  
  
“Yeah, well I’m making it my call,” Ron shot back.  
  
  
“Listen, Ron-”  
  
  
“No, you listen, Harry!” Ron was standing toe to toe with Harry by that point, glaring down at him. “You’ve done your part. Jugson’s trapped. You don’t have to be the bloody hero every second of every day.”  
  
  
“You think that’s what this is about, Ron? Being a hero? This is my job, you arsehole!”  
  
  
“No, Harry, it isn’t.” Justin’s voice was calm, but insistent. “Your job is to tell Terry and Susan what’s going on when they get here. Your job is to make sure Jugson doesn’t get past us and escape.” He paused for a second, until Harry stopped glaring at Ron and met his gaze. “Your job is to lead this team. You can’t do that if you’re running all over the house, trying to take down Jugson yourself.”  
  
  
Harry desperately wanted to tell Justin off. To show him exactly how wrong he was. The problem was that Justin wasn’t wrong. Harry stifled a stream of invective and forced himself to meet Justin’s infuriatingly calm stare. “Wankers,” he muttered, shaking his head in disgust. “Alright, then. Stay together. Don’t trust anything you see, sweep everything with revealing spells as soon as you enter a room. And when you find Neville, kick him in the bollocks and tell him to use his bloody head.”  
  
  
Ron and Justin headed awkwardly up the stairs, struggling to find purchase on steps that they couldn’t see. Their heads reached the false ceiling and then they disappeared, step by step, into the hidden second floor. Harry could still hear sporadic cracks of spellfire coming from the upper floors of the house and every fiber of his being itched to rush into the middle of the fight. Instead, he forced himself to take his own advice. He swept the parlor with a revealing spell and removed several curses from the furnishings and fixtures. It occurred to him that Terry and Susan should have arrived already, so he stepped to the hole in the wall to see whether he could see them.  
  
  
Harry limped over to the unconscious muggle woman and briefly pressed his fingertips against her neck, taking a small measure of comfort from the steady rhythm of her pulse. He looked toward the far end of the house and spotted Terry moving up the path, talking under his breath and casting spells into the surrounding air. Susan was close behind him, mimicking his actions. Keeping a careful watch on the hole in the wall, Harry waited for them to reach him.  
  
  
“We’ve got a problem,” Terry interjected between spells.  
  
  
“Wards keep adapting,” Susan added while Terry cast another anti-disapparition spell into the air.  
  
  
“Nothing is holding,” Terry continued.  
  
  
“I’ve got an idea,” Susan went on, then paused to cast another spell. The streaks of magical energy didn’t have the same clarity Harry was used to seeing. They wavered dimly and flickered out a short distance from Susan’s wand. “Can you take over?”  
  
  
Terry cast another spell and then Harry joined in. He could feel the magic surrounding them, pushing back against his efforts. The mansion’s protective enchantments were fighting to disperse the magical barriers that kept its inhabitants trapped inside. Everything about the place reeked of old Pureblood arrogance and dark magic, and Harry let his anger and frustration add power to the spells he was casting. His next jinx crackled with energy as it punched through the layers of old wards and temporarily illuminated the magical boundary that kept Jugson trapped inside. Aside from making Harry feel marginally better, it would buy them some time.  
  
  
Susan rolled her sore shoulders gingerly, a grimace of pain crossing her face, and spoke quickly and quietly. “I think we’d have better luck casting the spells _inside_ the house.”  
  
  
Harry furrowed his brow. Her idea ran against every standard procedure they’d been taught as trainees. Then again, they’d been taught a great deal of rubbish during their training. There was no reason to dismiss the idea out of hand. “Explain,” he replied between casting spells that seemed to have less and less effect.  
  
  
“Jugson’s family were purebloods,” Susan answered, as though that explained everything. She cast a couple of spells of her own and then noticed the uncertain looks on Harry and Terry’s faces. “Purebloods worry about threats from the outside, like another house they’re feuding with or Ministry officials harassing them or ideas more recent than the Eighteenth Century. They don’t worry about threats from inside. It’s a ‘we-they’ mentality.”  
  
  
He wasn’t completely sure he followed her logic, but Harry had to admit it was better than any other plan they had. A curse from the upper floors of the house blew out one of the windows with a loud bang. “Alright, let’s go!”  
  
  
The three Aurors hurried back toward the house, working to reinforce the anti-disapparition spells as they went. In the rush to keep Jugson trapped, Harry forgot about the muggle woman. In fact, he nearly tripped over her body.  
  
  
“Terry, move her to somewhere safe,” Harry directed. “We don’t want to give Jugson a ready-made hostage.”  
  
  
Terry levitated the woman’s body in front of him and headed back down the path. Harry stepped through the hole in the side of the house with Susan close behind. They moved to opposite sides of the parlor and started to cast the jinxes. Their spells didn’t encounter the resistance they had found outside the house, but their range did seem to be limited. “We need to layer them,” Susan called out in a quiet but urgent voice. “They should hold up once we have them in place.”  
  
  
Harry started to move around the perimeter of the first floor, adding to the spells as he went. He passed from the parlor into the great room and felt instantly repulsed by the decor. Portraits of arrogant, sneering witches and wizards adorned the walls and a layer of dust covered the moth-eaten carpet. Toward the back of the room, the doors to a built-in cabinet had been left carelessly open. An empty firewhiskey bottle lying next to a moldy couch was the only sign that anyone had entered the room in decades. The crowning touch of aristocratic Pureblood snobbery was a row of mummified house elf heads adorning the wall above the door to the next room. More than ever, Harry wanted to burn the place to the ground.  
  
  
Just as Harry made his way from the great room to the dining room, several loud cracks rang out from the upper floors of the house, followed by a yelp of pain. Harry’s stomach clenched into a knot and he ceased his spell casting for a moment to listen closely. A few seconds later, Justin’s patronus swept through the window and alighted at Harry’s feet. “ _Ron got too close to a cursed painting. He’s down, but he’s alive. Neville is somewhere on the second floor._ ” As the silvery ball of light faded away, another sound reached Harry’s ears, one that set his heart pounding against his ribs. A horrifying, otherworldly scream of pure agony.  
  
  
“You’ve lost, Harry Potter.” Jugson’s disembodied voice echoed through the old mansion, coming from everywhere and nowhere. “Stop what you’re doing and take down your anti-disapparition spells. If you do not, I can promise you that Mr. Longbottom’s death will haunt your dreams until the day you die.”  
  
  
 _Jugson stormed into the room, furious. With a flick of his wand, he slammed the muggle woman’s body to the floor. A cry of pain escaped her lips as he flipped her onto her back with another twist of his wrist. Her limbs were splayed outward as though a great weight pressed down on her.  
  
  
“You worthless muggle bitch! It was you that tipped off the Aurors, wasn’t it? How’d you do it?”  
  
  
When she only stared back at him in confused terror, he jabbed his wand downward. “Answer me! _CRUCIO _!”  
  
  
Horrible screams filled the air as the muggle woman’s limbs twisted and writhed in spite of the spell holding her in place. Jugson lifted his wand slightly, pausing the torture. “How did you get a message to the Aurors? Tell me or you’ll die screaming!”  
  
  
She sucked down a gasping breath before answering in a pitiful whisper. “I haven’t talked to anyone. I don’t know what an Auror is!”  
  
  
The scene shifted subtly, the berber carpet fading into the cold marble of an old, Pureblood manor.  
  
  
“You’re lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it!” Bellatrix shrieked. “You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!” ***  
  
  
Another terrible scream rent the air. A few tufts of bushy, brown hair were visible around the dark witch’s long, black skirts as she leaned forward to admire the results of her handiwork._  
  
  
Harry forced the terrible vision -- or was it a recollection? -- out of his mind. He stood rooted to the floor, lost in panic and indecision. Jugson would kill Neville without the slightest reservation. Of that, Harry had no doubt. One more death, one more funeral, one more person who lost their life because they were stupid enough to believe in Harry Potter. He was nearly ready to start taking down the spells.  
  
  
“Don’t listen to him, Harry!” Susan’s voice reached him from several rooms away. “You know better. If we drop the jinxes, the bastard will kill as many of us as he can before he leaves, starting with Neville.”  
  
  
Jugson’s voice floated through the air again. “Your lack of trust hurts me, Miss Bones” Another gut-wrenching scream echoed through the house again, longer and louder. “But I believe it hurts your young friend even more. What do you think, Potter? Will he last longer than Mummy and Daddy before the madness claims him?”  
  
  
Harry turned away from the wall he’d been casting spells on and headed toward the stairs. “Justin,” he shouted, “meet me on the second floor!”  
  
  
“Harry, stop!” Susan sounded closer. Harry realized that she was still making her way around the house. “We have to finish setting the jinxes before the ones we cast outside fall. If we don’t, he’ll get away!”  
  
  
Another scream ripped through the eerie silence of the old mansion. Harry felt the helpless fury boiling inside his chest. “Jugson’s killing him, Susan! We can’t abandon him.”  
  
  
Susan’s voice was even closer and he could hear her straining to remain calm in spite of Neville’s terrible cries of pain. “Think, Harry. What would Neville want us to do? All the suffering is for nothing if Jugson escapes.”  
  
  
Gritting his teeth, Harry turned back to the wall and started casting anti-disapparition spells as quickly as possible. He knew that Susan was right. He knew that Neville was strong. But nobody should have to suffer this way. In the depths of his mind, stress and fear and guilt and anxiety coiled and twisted, gradually reforming into cold hatred. It wasn’t a healthy way to handle his feelings, but it allowed him to cope. To do what had to be done.  
  
  
After what felt like an eternity, he found himself shoulder to shoulder with Susan. Neville’s screams had faded to pitiful yelps, delivered in short, raspy bursts. As soon as Harry layered his final spell over Susan’s, sealing the house against apparition, Harry turned toward the stairs. “Guard the exits,” he ordered without looking back. “If you see the bastard, don’t hesitate, take him down!”  
  
  
He had almost reached the bottom of the staircase when a new chorus of spellfire rang out from the upper floors. Justin must have finally found his way to where Jugson was torturing Neville, and Harry felt a small measure of relief. He forced his injured body to take the stairs two at a time, wincing in pain with every upward lunge. The stairs led to a corridor that ran through the center of the house. Old lamps flickered near the ceiling, casting rapidly moving shadows over the doorways leading to the rooms on either side. The stairs leading to the next floor were nowhere to be seen, although for all Harry knew, they could have been right in front of him. He was about to start casting revealing spells when a familiar figure emerged from one of the rooms.  
  
  
“You better get in there, mate,” Ron said grimly as he strode toward Harry. “I don’t know whether he’s gonna make it.”  
  
  
Harry nodded somberly and took a step toward the room Ron had emerged from. He could feel the boiling fury building inside his chest, ready to burst. He allowed his knee to give way slightly, stumbling forward. It concealed a quick movement of his arm that brought his wand to bear a fraction of a second before the tall red-head was able to draw an unfamiliar wand from the depths of his cloak.  
  
  
“ _CONFRINGO!_ ” The curse exploded from the tip of Harry’s wand, filled with every ounce of his pent-up fury. Jugson was hurled backward, his arms windmilling through the air as his body sailed the length of the corridor before slamming into the far wall. Ron’s features melted away as Jugson’s hastily applied charms faded. “Nice try, arsehole!” Harry snarled, stalking toward the fallen Death Eater. “You had a fifty-fifty chance and you guessed wrong.”  
  
  
Jugson took a shallow, gasping breath and coughed violently. A thin rivulet of blood ran down his chin. He raised his empty palms and mouthed the words “I surrender,” his voice little more than a raspy wheeze. Harry aimed his wand directly at the center of the other man’s chest. Jugson was one of the Dark Lord’s most fanatical followers, the consummate dead ender, and Harry didn’t believe for a second that he was giving up. As he closed in, his senses were on edge, wondering just what Jugson was playing at.  
  
  
The answer came in a sudden lurch of motion. The carpet beneath Harry’s feet flew into the air, sending him tumbling backward. He cast a shield charm out of pure instinct and it barely deflected a jet of purple flames that shattered the wall beside him. Harry pushed himself backward on his elbows, trying to regroup. Jugson had pulled himself to his knees, leaning against the wall for support. After batting away two more curses, Harry managed to cast a few offensive spells, slowing the Death Eater’s attack. Both men gradually pulled themselves to their feet, in spite of their injuries.  
  
  
Harry and Jugson were soon locked into a vicious duel, trading spells and dodging lethal curses. As he fought, Harry had to be mindful that anything in the house, no matter how benign it might seem, could become a weapon. Jugson was powerful, cunning and completely devoid of any sense of honor. Harry decided that his best hope was to keep Jugson so occupied with defending himself that he wouldn’t have time to spring any of his nasty little surprises. That strategy had a limited shelf life, however. He could feel his energy waning as the fiery anger that had propelled him into the conflict gradually gave way to fatigue.  
  
  
One of Harry’s spells flew too high and it allowed Jugson a quick flick of his wand. The oil lamp behind Harry exploded, spreading a flaming spray of oil into the air. The back of Harry’s cloak was suddenly ablaze, and he was forced to shed the heavy garment while repelling Jugson’s renewed assault. He threw his aching body to the side to avoid a bludgeoning hex and his shoulder struck a door which unexpectedly gave way. Harry found himself slipping and stumbling across a wet tile floor. His boots lost their grip in a large puddle of water and he tumbled to the floor, landing on his injured shoulder. His wand slipped from his grasp and skittered underneath the clawfoot tub, which was filled with dirty, soapy water. Somewhere in the recesses of Harry’s brain, he found it oddly amusing that Jugson would be the type to take a bath instead of a shower.  
  
  
Harry desperately wanted to retrieve his wand, but his injured arm no longer seemed to be working properly. He found a bar of soap lying on the floor and when Jugson appeared in the doorway, Harry flung it at him. Jugson turned the irrelevant projectile aside with a casual flick of his wand, staring at Harry with cruel amusement.  
  
  
“Pathetic. I won’t pretend that I’m not enjoying this, Potter. Seeing you reduced to the worthless animal that you are, trying to save your skin without your wand. Your mudblood mother would be proud.” He raised his wand over his head. “Be sure to send her my condolences.”  
  
  
When the moment came, Harry couldn’t help but close his eyes. “ _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ ”  
  
  
 _The pleading voice of a terrified mother was abruptly silenced by the loud crack of a curse. The little dog yelped in terror at the sound, which was followed by the muffled thud of a body crumbling to the floor. Tearing around the cluttered room, the dog searched for a place to hide, somewhere the monster on the other side of the door wouldn’t see him. Under the bed, inside the closet, beneath the pile of broken toys... no place was safe. No matter where the pup hid, the monster always found him in the end. The door flew open and slammed against the wall. The monster’s silhouette cast a long shadow across the carpet.  
  
  
“There you are, Donny. Your mum really messed up this time.” As the little dog’s eyes adjusted to the light from the corridor, he could just make out the cruel leer on the monster’s face. The wooden stick was pointed directly at him. “For you, that’s bad news.”  
  
  
Fear twisted in the boy’s stomach, cold and sharp. He wanted to cry, wanted someone to come and save him from the snake-like visage with the burning red eyes. But his last, best hope was already gone. In spite of the imminent spectre of death towering above him, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the woman lying on the floor. Auburn hair fanned out around her unmoving body, her green eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. There was a blinding flash of green light..._  
  
  
A deafening explosion showered Harry with smoldering chunks of plaster and splintered wood. His eyes snapped open and through the smoke and ash he saw Jugson still standing in the doorway, looking furious. A magical rope was wrapped around the wrist of his wand hand, holding his arm aloft. Behind Jugson, Harry’s eyes followed the rope back to the end of Susan Bones’s wand.  
  
  
Her interference barely gave Jugson pause, however. He merely allowed Susan to pull his arm directly back to the source of the rope. “ _Incendio!_ ” Susan’s scream ripped through the air as her robes burst into flames, shattering Harry’s last thread of composure. He’d been pushed to the breaking point, mentally and physically. Neville had been tortured. Ron was injured and Justin was who knew where. Susan screamed again. Teresa would spend the rest of her life mourning the loss of her son. Donny and Bizzy were dead. It had to end.  
  
  
 _Accio_. Harry’s wand flew into his hand, summoned by his magic and propelled by his rage. “No more!” Jugson turned back toward Harry with an alarmed look on his face, raising his wand to block whatever Harry was about to throw at him. But Harry had other ideas. Cursing Jugson was inadequate, a quick and easy end to a life of wanton cruelty and senseless brutality. The bastard didn’t deserve such mercy. If he wanted to play with fire, he would be extinguished.  
  
  
With a swipe of his wand and an unspoken spell, Harry drew a torrent of old bathwater from the tub and sent it rushing toward Jugson’s head. Jugson turned away from from the deluge, trying to shield his face. A quick twist of Harry’s wrist pulled the water into a rapidly spinning sphere that surrounded Jugson’s shoulders and head. The dark wizard fired off several curses in Harry’s direction, but he was unable to aim with the swirling water obscuring his vision and throwing off his sense of balance. Harry rose to his feet, propelled by sheer willpower and seething fury. The air in the room crackled with raw power as the two wizards struggled for control.  
  
  
Harry could feel the silent spells that Jugson was casting, trying to overcome the suffocating ball of water. Snaps and jabs of magic challenged his control, probing for weaknesses and lapses in his concentration. It made him even angrier, Jugson looking for chances that he didn’t deserve. The flash of annoyance increased the power Harry was directing into the spell. Thin whisps of steam started to waft off of the surface of Jugson’s watery prison. The dark wizard cast two more curses, but they didn’t come close to reaching their mark. Somewhere in the corridor, Susan moaned in pain. Harry’s lip twisted in barely contained rage. Jugson’s wand slipped from his trembling fingers and clattered against the tile floor. His knees gave way, but his body was held suspended in the air.  
  
  
“Harry, he’s done! Let him go!”  
  
  
Terry’s voice sounded distant and foreign. It didn’t belong in the small world that held only Jugson and the justice that the fugitive Death Eater had evaded for so long. The bathroom mirror was fogged over from the oppressive humidity filling the warm air.  
  
  
“Harry, stop! You’re gonna kill him!”  
  
  
The sphere of water was boiling. Fat bubbles of steam rushed to its surface and burst, filling the room with roiling, ghostly plumes of white. Jugson hung limply above the floor, his feet dangling inches from the wet tile.  
  
  
“ _Harry! Enough!_ ”  
  
  
A pair of hands seized Harry’s wand arm, dragging it down. Jugson’s body crashed to the floor, followed by a rush of boiling water that streamed out the door and into the corridor. Harry could feel his hands shaking. He tried to raise his wand, to confront the next threat, but his fingers lost their grip and the thin piece of wood fell into the deep puddles around his boots. Terry’s strong hands caught Harry as his body gave way and he fell to his knees. The water burned his skin, but he was barely aware of the pain. The last thing Harry remembered was Justin limping into the ruined bathroom, shouting words that he couldn’t comprehend. Then everything went dark.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Harry took a deep breath and forced back the urge to turn away. He was finding it very hard to accept the sympathy he found in her deep, brown eyes. The eyes that he loved to stare into more than any in the world.  
  
  
“And then I just lost it. I couldn’t take it any more. I couldn’t handle the thought of him hurting anyone else. I had to stop it, no matter what it took. That’s when I summoned the water.”  
  
  
Ginny stared back at him, patient and understanding. When he woke up in St. Mungo’s, she was sitting by his bedside, worrying over his bandages. What had he ever done to deserve such unconditional love and support?  
  
  
“Harry, you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t feel terrible about what you did. But he had to be stopped. You did what you had to do.”  
  
  
This time, Harry did look away. He couldn’t bear to see those eyes when he truly confessed it all.  
  
  
“I didn’t have to do that, Gin. I could have disarmed him. I could have stunned him. I didn’t want to. I wanted to see him suffer. I wanted to see him hurt the way that he hurt Bizzy and Teresa and Neville.” Harry felt an uncomfortable prickling around his eyes. “I never used to understand why Voldemort wanted people to hurt, how he could enjoy causing pain.”  
  
  
“Harry.” Ginny gently took Harry’s chin between her fingers and turned him to face her. He was laid bare before her, all of his guilt and shame plain for her to see. “You will _never_ be like Voldemort. He never felt regret or remorse the way you do. He hurt people because he was evil and scared.”  
  
  
Harry took her hands in his own and held them tightly, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m scared too, Gin. I’m scared of what I felt. I didn’t just hurt him to stop him.” His voice fell to barely a whisper. “I wanted to hurt him.”  
  
  
Ginny laid her head on Harry’s chest, still holding his hands tightly. “It’s alright to be angry, love. It’s alright to be scared. Dealing with people like Jugson, I’d be more worried if you didn’t feel that way. In the end, you made the right choice. You stopped yourself.”  
  
  
Harry laid still for a long time, trying to take comfort from the weight of her head on his chest and the feel of her small fingers clutching his own. He remembered the promise the team had made, to be angry for Teresa, who would never know what really happened to her child. The burden had turned out to be greater than he ever imagined. Harry knew that he had to come to terms with that burden, and quickly. Because the truth was that the choice had been made for him. If Terry hadn’t been there, the anger would have won.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
_* Paraphrasing Arnold Schwarzenegger as John Matrix in Commando (1985).  
** Quote from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Chapter 34.  
*** Quote from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Chapter 23.  
  
Hello, dear readers! I apologize for the extremely long wait since chapter 3. This one was a bear to get right. I hope that the end result was worth the effort.  
  
I'd like to send a huge thank you to my beta reader, sophie_hatter, for all of her help with this story. She is my reference and my rock. She keeps me from screwing up and makes every story better with her insight and ideas. I'm also grateful to 1917farmgirl and pixileanin, both of whom helped with ideas and suggestions for this story. Finally, I'd like to thank everyone who has read and reviewed the story. Readers are the reason I keep going, even when things get busy and difficult.  
  
-CambAngst  
-31 Aug 2014_   
  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Paraphrasing Arnold Schwarzenegger as John Matrix in Commando (1985).  
> ** Quote from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Chapter 34.  
> *** Quote from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Chapter 23.
> 
> Hello, dear readers! I apologize for the extremely long wait since chapter 3. This one was a bear to get right. I hope that the end result was worth the effort.
> 
> I'd like to send a huge thank you to my beta reader, sophie_hatter, for all of her help with this story. She is my reference and my rock. She keeps me from screwing up and makes every story better with her insight and ideas. I'm also grateful to 1917farmgirl and pixileanin, both of whom helped with ideas and suggestions for this story. Finally, I'd like to thank everyone who has read and reviewed the story. Readers are the reason I keep going, even when things get busy and difficult.
> 
> -CambAngst  
> -31 Aug 2014


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